Witches and Vampires
by Sky Samuelle
Summary: A collection of short stories about the multifaceted relationship between Damon and Bonnie, some interconnected, some not.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Raven and Maiden **

**Author: skysamuelle, BETA: Emmy**

**Challenge 3, Theme 3: ****One Taste**

**Post 1.14, Damon still watches over Bonnie.**

**--**

Vampires are carnal creatures; it's not a secret. They take and want, feed and fuck, all with the same boundary-free intensity and remorseless self-indulgence.

Unless their name is Stefan Salvatore, Damon considers with a mocking inner smile, ruffling his feathers absently as he watches the scene unfolding before his raven eyes.

The witch doesn't notice him, and he vaguely wishes she were doing something more interesting than chatting up silly Caroline via her cell. Like, maybe undressing with her blinds open, so he would have a sound reason to waste his time on her.

Still, he has to concede that it's interesting, the way every line of her tight little body relaxes when she is in animated conversation with her closer friends. It becomes sinuous, as inviting as that artless glow of her smile, when she tilts her head and laughs. A low, guilty laughter, like she found it impossible to laugh in her mourning.

Bonnie Bennett is all he doesn't want, hotness notwithstanding. Naïve, trusting, loyal, nearly mature for her age, way too honest and _humble_. _Scared_ of all that sacred _power _dormant inside her (shame on that).

No wonder that Stefan likes her, on second thought.

She is exactly the kind of girl their father would have considered suitable for marriage (to his brother), sorceress bloodline aside. A perfect Maiden.

Damon is not the kind of man who would appreciate that anymore, the kind that keeps doors open for blushing beauties, cares for anyone's opinion –let alone his brother's- or takes care of other people.

Katherine broke him out of that. Deep down, he has always known she was poison in his veins, that she would burn him from the inside out someday, even before learning she has never been inside that grave.

The difference is that _before_, he believed they were meant to consume each other, equal in that sweet quest for destruction.

Wanting Elena makes sense because it's the easiest doorway to erase Katherine completely, from his heart and his memory. Wanting Elena means seeking to reverse history and going after her is demanding that the universe rights a wrong. Having Elena would be finally seeing _that_ face in his mind and not recalling his sire.

Wanting Bonnie is purely a purposeless caprice.

He is watching her out of curiosity and filthy voyeuristic pleasure, perhaps a desire to observe all the ways her grief has broken her.

Sometimes, he just wishes he could rip her open, set free the darkness she _has_ to be hiding somewhere inside.

Once upon a time, there was a boy who wanted simply to reach out and touch something beautiful, something intense, and to be touched back by it.

That boy doesn't exist anymore, except in Stefan 's most remote, shame-filled memories and Damon's own.

Yet…Bonnie turns, her resentful eyes meet his and hold on, unsurprised and accusing. They say 'I-fear-you-not, you-evil- vampire'.

Maybe she had noticed of his discreet scrutiny, after all.

Good Little Witch.

He should stay, if only to taunt her better and to rise to the silent challenge, but his instincts have him flying away before he can articulate a proper thought.

Sometimes he wishes he never had that first, one damning taste of her.

He can still feel her ancient blood lingering underneath his skin, taunting him with the promise of a primitive heat. A beautiful incandescence begging to be awoken.

She had been heady from the first sip, enough so to startle him out of his rage. Almost heady enough to scare him and definitely enough to leave a powerful impression.

He remembers it so clearly than every time he sees her pretty face, or smells her presence the taste fills his mouth again.

An addictive blend of aged wine and dark chocolate, if he needs to define it with boring human terms of comparison.

Damon has tasted witches before, and none of them has ever lingered in his veins like this. Someday- he promises himself- he will understand what makes Bonnie Bennett so tantalizingly different.

Wait and see, he will get one more taste.

**Title: Identity **

**Author: skysamuelle**

**Challenge 3, Theme 5: ****I know you are but what am I...**

**A Bonnie-centric, post 1.14 drabble. Our favorite witch questions her real nature, and her kinship with a certain vampire.**

Bonnie runs her fingertips reverently along the edge of several pages, bittersweet sadness squeezing the breath out of her as she takes in her grandmother's writing.

There are notes about the next Dark Moon ritual – it makes something in her gut ache, realizing that Sheila had planned to be there, the next month- and a recipe for pumpkin pie.

Bonnie bites her bottom lip hard to not cry, not again, and most especially over _this_.

The old Grimoire allows her to feel closer to her grandmother but still…it hurts, it hurts so much, more than anything else she has ever experienced. She would prefer being the one cold and dead, rather than submitting to this torment of guilty consciences and loss.

For the first time she believes she can come closer to understanding how Elena could emerge from last summer as a changed person. You just can't withstand a pain like this and stay the same as you were.

They say the distance from those people you have loved and lost becomes a part of you eventually, but that idea hardly makes anything easier, only more unfair.

Bonnie knows what Stefan is, but she never forgets _who _he is either. He is always going to be a person and a friend first and a terrifying beast second.

This is why she will never blame him for disrupting their ordinary lives with his arrival. He helped her to accept her cumbersome heritage and he made Elena happy again, and this somehow matters more than anything he could have done before coming back to Mystic Falls.

Stefan is a man, not a monster.

But his brother…oh, Damon is another story all together. Even his first name seems to pay homage to what he is: a demon, a creature who revels in destruction and darkness. The fact that he is capable of love doesn't redeem him because Damon Salvatore chooses to embrace the animal within.

Damon is a monster because vampirism defines his nature and character. He is at his most cruel when he plays with truth for his purposes, a predator gently coaxing his prey toward the set trap.

He is calculating and narcissistic, shameless in pursuing his interests…yet every flaw is easily overlooked in the moment's heat because he looks like sex on legs, his eyes are so blue and his voice ever so …convincing.

Bullshit.

Elena could be softening up toward the brother of her boyfriend, but she doesn't have the basis to draw the lines. Leopards and lions can like you, but that doesn't mean they will warn you before tearing you apart.

Stefan is still a man where Damon is pure vampire, that's the truth. The fact that _she_ can see it, so easily…Bonnie is afraid of what it could mean.

What is _she_? An otherworldly creature or a cheerleader? A Daughter of Nature or a girl?

It was Caroline who convinced her to try out cheerleading, and it was because of her friendship with Elena Gilbert that she became a permanent fixture of the popular crowd of Mystic Falls.

And all along, there was deep down, a little voice whispering that nothing in all that could truly define her. That pompom practice and parties were distractions, unable to taint that self-aware and calm core existent at the very bottom of her.

She is terrified that her life so far has been a charade, a waiting game. That underneath the affection she has for Elena and her parents, the calling of Wind and Hearth is stronger, powerful enough to shatter the façade. Storms used to get her so unusually excited when she was a little girl… she used to watch by the window, waiting to catch the lightning as it struck, listening to the rain.

And her grandma used to smile over it. _"Just like a true Salem's child."_ Sheila commented once, stroking Bonnie' s wind-blown hair affectionately.

Perhaps she is a monster, too.

It would surely explain why she feels the way she does when _he_ is nearby. That sense of instinctive recognition burning low in her belly, contradictory as it both warns her of the danger and draws her toward it.

She resents Damon the most for how easily his superficial charm and outside appearance distract from his true self. At his core, he is a predator.

Like calls to alike--that is the very first law of magic.

Bonnie hates the concept of seeing in the older Salvatore a twisted reflection of herself. Yet…

There's no denying she was a witch a long time before she began receiving visions and regularly meeting vampires. Some secretive part of her knew it. Always.

Bonnie has never been the kind of girl to be fearful of change. Magic had not scared her shitless _only _because it threatened to shatter her sense of normalcy, or it could not be properly controlled.

Magic had scared her because it threatened to change _her_, to _define_ her. Like there was another Bonnie Bennett inside her, fighting to get out and take over.

_What is she, really? Human, despite that white-hot, stubborn force humming under her skin, screaming to not be denied? _

_Or just another monster in disguise?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Theme 1: First Date**

**Accidental First Date**

Across the room, Caroline leans toward Matt, flirty smile in place, fingers idly pulling at his collar. Bonnie wonders why a friend would insist so much that she leave her house, only to ditch her afterwards.

That's Caroline Forbes, the witch sighs to herself. She doesn't _mean_ to be self-centered, she just…is. It's not in her nature to focus on anyone else's needs for more than five minutes.

_She probably thinks her job with me is done, that I'm all cheered up._

And just to improve her already sour mood …

"You know"- a familiar and much disliked voice brushes against her earlobe- "Age is not really about how old you are."

Shrinking back, Bonnie warily eyes the vampire suddenly seated beside her, an arrogant smirk on his perfect lips, ice-colored eyes fixed on her.

She nods with a blatantly insincere grin "I'm sure it's not about how old you really _feel_ either, because then you wouldn't be any older than twelve."

He chuckles, probably surprised that she's playing along instead of walking away. She is a bit surprised, as well. To say she hates him would be probably an exaggeration, yet…

"And you, little witch, would be positively ancient. "

Annoyed that Damon made the effort to come to her just to be snarky, Bonnie rolls her eyes upward and looks away, determined to ignore him.

He doesn't leave.

"An apple martini for the lady." He orders instead, compelling the barman so no unnecessary questions will arise.

Bonnie' s expression as she turns toward her unwanted companion is nearly outraged.

"What?" – he shrugs like the very picture of affected innocence, - "You _truly_ look like you need one."

And then he invades her personal space some more, so their shoulders are touching. Yes, this Salvatore definitely has the emotional maturity of a spoiled child.

_And, let's not forget, the destructive capacity of a hurricane. _

"What game are you playing tonight, Damon? "

"No games, just a drink "– he sing-songs, half serious and half-mocking, gaze softening in amusement- "Doesn't misery love company? "

"Not yours," Bonnie snipes back, because it's really, really easy (and oddly liberating) to be mean to him, whereas she has the opposite tendency with most people.

_Unlike Stefan, Damon is not a person_,her subconscious nastily adds.

Yet, Bonnie accepts the drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fire Speaks**

**Grandma Bennett divines her future pre-ep 1.14, and she doesn't like what she sees. There's another reason she's agreed to open that grave. It falls in line with 'Raven and Maiden' and 'Identity'.**

**-- **

Fire Magic in itself is not easy, but Fire Divination is a true art. Fire is not an element that can bend to a seeker's will, but it must be courted passionately, with perseverance…until it accepts you and consumes you. The true witch knows it and loves the flames all the more for the challenge they offer.

Lately, Sheila can feel her strength waning, the Others whispering to her from beyond the Veil.

There's her mother, a cherished cousin, a long-lost friend, who was a sister in their craft. Bonnie's grandfather. They murmur that she doesn't need to be afraid. Soon, the distance between them will be crossed, and they will know each other again.

Sheila doesn't fear Death, like every woman who has lived a long and fulfilling existence, or a witch who has glimpsed what lies beneath the _apparent_ reality . She is, however, afraid of what she will leave behind.

Her beloved granddaughter, so powerful and still so inexperienced, so unaware of everything she might accomplish. The thick darkness hovering once more over Mystic Falls. Those vampires.

There are answers Sheila needs to have before she can give herself over and finally rest.

So she offers sage and thyme to the flames stroked inside her cauldron and chants, low, staring into the fire until her sight blurs and the hitching, dry heat has worked its way inside her. The common world calls away as everything just burns inside and out of her, creating a sort of fierce non-existence where the centre of every truth lies.

_Fire, my lover, my friend. Tell me whether my lineage will be safe._

Flames flare high, entwine and mold together, forming the shape of two bodies desperately grasping at each other. Skin sliding against skin. Thirst. Hunger. Shadows fading, abysses filed. Black nails clawing at a back pale as marble, dark fingers brushing mussed hair away from a white forehead, affectionately.

Blue. Eyes as blue as sapphires. They could be beautiful if they weren't brimming with malice.

Fangs, white and sharp, trailing possessively over a shoulder, a flat stomach, a smooth thigh. A sense of rightness and belonging.

Blood. Bonnie arching in a secure, firm hold as her life slowly ebbed away, claimed by a creature she loved.

Bonnie in her coffin, beautiful and young. Too young. The last Bennett witch, the most powerful and the most famous, dead and cold, childless.

Bonnie rising again with a gasp, a smirk welcoming her into the night. A vampire strong like no other, with a wild, terrible, magic still coursing through her. _"I am so hungry, Damon_._" _

It's the name that startles the oldest Bennett out of her trance.

_No._

She will never allow _any_ of this to become true. Bonnie won't be the last of her lineage, and no Salvatore will be the end of her. Even if it has to mean opening the doors of Hell itself, Sheila will save her.


	4. Hand Holding & Dreams Will Tell

**Title: Hand holding**

**Author: ****skysamuelle****  
Pairing: Bonnie/Damon  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries  
Timeline: Post S2  
Summary: Badass vampires don't blush nor they hold hands, right?**

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at ****bubbly_fics****. **  
**  
The Prompt: First Time - Hand holding**

They are not the kind of couple who hold hands.

They are the kind who argues a lot, teases each other to the breaking point and then proceeds to have ridiculously hot, unrestrained sex to resolve the tension they build up.

Damon likes it that way- he likes that Bonnie never lets him off easy over anything, and he likes it even better that he is the only one (or at least the best) capable of drawing out the fierce little monster that hides deep inside her.

He loves that kissing his witch awakens this utterly sexual heat in every inch of his body and he never feels quite as raw as after he has spent an exhausting night in her bed.

He thinks hand holding is overrated. Damon swore he was done with 'gentle' and 'cute' the moment he realized that all of Elena's hugs and soft-voiced professions of friendship were nothing but a well disguised hook meant to keep him hanging.

Yet…

It bugs him that Bonnie never bothers with girly romantic rubbish where he is concerned. It's insulting that she never tries to force him to be more boyfriend-like when she has no problem bossing him around about whatever else.

It almost makes him feel like a cheap dirty secret, even if their fling is pretty much public.

Why is he even obsessing about this shit anyway?

It's her fault, obviously. Because last evening when they were walking, talking about nothing of importance, her hand casually brushed his – twice! And she was smiling in that sunny, soft way she sometimes had and for a moment he worried she would take his hand and entwine their fingers.

But she did _not_.

At first, Damon was relieved.

Yet after she was gone, when he was left alone replaying their so called date inside his head and congratulating himself for sidestepping the danger …he found himself wondering why she had not seized the chance to push his buttons.

It's not like he wants to be bothered with romantic clichés and whatever else. Even with Katherine, back when he was human, there was nothing of the sort. Perhaps he was thinking about it now because she saved the _public_ displays of affection for Saint Stefan, or perhaps it's because gentlemanly behaviors seemed to stir a mocking, subtly condescending side of her (unless it came from Saint Stefan).

Bonnie is different: she is a sentimental little thing, and unlike her bestie, she means all she promises.

So she _should_ want to hold his fucking hand.

But let the witch suit herself: he doesn't care. At all.

* * *

The first time he holds her hand is two days after, and Bonnie is sleeping, in his bed, naked, curled against her side with her dark hair fanned on his pillow.

Damon thinks she looks particularly attractive like that, but in a way that makes him want to wake her up with bold and inappropriate caresses to her most sensitive spots.

Her hand is just there, on the pillow, close to her visage. He takes it just to move it away, because he has a sudden impulse to look at her sleeping face better…but he doesn't let it go.

Her hand feels small and warm clasped inside his, and it gives him a weird feeling (protective, possessive, grateful, and something else).

Before Damon can shake himself out of whatever came over him, Bonnie stirs languidly under his sheets and discloses sleepy, hazel-green eyes on him.

"Hey," she mutters, half-smiling, and then glances at their joined hands and blinks like she is questioning what she sees.

He feels heat creeping up his neck as he tries to pull his hand away. Obviously, Bonnie won't allow it.

"Damon, are you _blushing_?"

He doesn't bother answering her.

_Him_, blushing? That will _never_ happen. He hasn't blushed since Katherine, and even then he was mortified by his reaction.

Except he suspects she _might_ be right. Damn – all of his face feels like it's on fine.

Just to make the situation more humiliating, Bonnie giggles heartedly, fully awake by now, and then she draws his hand toward her more forcefully, interlacing her fingers with his.

He might use his vampire strength to his advantage, just to prove how laughable her attempt at a vice-like grip to restrain him is, but she kisses his knuckles and confuses him again.

He might swear her lips have left an imprint on his skin.

**Title: Dreams Will Tell**

**Author: ****skysamuelle****  
Pairing: Bonnie/Damon  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries  
Timeline: Post S2  
Summary: Bonnie is sick and how does Damon coddle her? By slipping inside her dreams.  
A/N: This was written for the Bamon Drabble Party at ****bubbly_fics****. The Prompt: Dream Invasion.**

Elena and Stefan are in a cuddling mood tonight, Damon notices as he swallows his second glass of scotch, eyeing with bored disapproval the way his brother plays with his girlfriend's long locks. The couple is splayed all over the couch and watching a _chick flick. _

Once upon a time Damon would take pride in breezing in, a blinding smile and a half-buttoned shirt on just to ruin their mood, commenting on how there were better things to be done with a contented Elena nestled against your chest.

But that was before he realized that being Elena's personal, walking wet dream is not quite the same as being the love of her life.

Now harassing 'Stelena' is more habit than anything else and all he wants after watching them coo at each other for five minutes is some verbal sparring with a girl who knows how to dish it out as good as she receives it.

A girl with a small shapely figure who happens to be a witch with a penchant for threatening his life if he does so much as look at her the wrong way.

In other words, he's aching for his Bonnie Bennett Fix. One hundred forty-five years of living and destroying lives, and he never figured, until meeting her, that having a frenemy is massive, UST-wrapped fun.

He finally has a nemesis worthy of the name, and he can never predict when she is going to be civil to him and when it's going to be World War III. It also doesn't hurt that that she looks and smells absolutely _delicious._

* * *

"What do you want?"

Opening her bedroom's window to him after leaving him out for _half an hour_ cawing and thumping his beak against the glass, Bonnie doesn't look as delicious as he had pictured her to be tonight. While the hostility in her reddened eyes is definitely _inspiring_, the fluffy cotton dressing she has enveloped her body in disappoints all his (admittedly over the top) expectations.

"Elena was right: you seriously look like you're incubating yellow fever," he comments casually, stepping in, like he is completely unaware of the outraged glare aimed at the back of his head while the witch pulls her dressing tighter around her frame.

Obviously he is exaggerating, but there's nothing like beginning one of their conversations with a good low blow. He loves it when she gets all ferocious and riled up over one of his _innocent_ quips, and he is not going easy on her just because she happens to be sick.

"Damon, I've got a fever, my head aches, and I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, so if you want something, out with it, because if you're just going to a be an asshole, I'm going-"

"Relax, Bon Bon," Damon waves her upcoming threat off, rolling his eyes in a show of annoyance. "This is only a social call. I was bored and thinking of you, so…"

Tucking his hands nonchalantly in his jacket's pockets, he looks at Bonnie pointedly, like he expects her to break out in a wild dance (or maybe a striptease, knowing his type) just to entertain him.

"How many times must I repeat it for you before it sticks? People are _not_ toys," she replies with no real bite, self-consciously tucking a lock of her messy hair behind her hear and turning away from her unwanted guest to return to her bed.

"Yet, the world is my playground," he shrugs with a smoldering smug smile that makes her feel all the more aware of how unkempt she must look in comparison to his casual elegance. At times like this, she wishes they had never called a truce.

Not bothering to play along or to even glance his way, the witch tucks herself back under the covers, trying to not resent the way he is staring down at her, standing two inches away from her bed.

"I'm going to sleep now."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"Let me rephrase it. What I meant was: Go away, Homicidal Vampire."

As an answer, he sits down beside her bed, on the floor, so they are eye to eye. It would be ridiculous if it wasn't tragic. "I have a better idea."

"I'm nearly afraid to ask what it's about," she sighs, resigned.

His grin grows even smugger, and it sends a rush of foreboding along her spine. "Don't worry, you'll like it. Even if it doesn't _necessarily_ involve sex."

* * *

Bonnie has no concept of how the damn vampire convinced her to participate in his little experiment, because willingly letting Damon Salvatore inside her head is probably the craziest, most spontaneous thing she has ever done in her life. Tomorrow she will probably blame the fever, but tonight she is glad he is such a persuasive bastard, because the salon is magnificent, and the chandelier's glow gives it a magical, fairy-tale like appearance. The singing of the violins and the low chatter of the distinguishably-attired crowd swim around her as she slides through the hall, holding on Damon's arm.

Dressed and combed as an 1864 wealthy gentleman, he looks more handsome than she cares to admit, and it strikes some deep chord inside her knowing that this is how he had looked when he was a mortal.

They pass a mirror and she must stop, because she almost doesn't recognize herself: Damon has dressed her in a burgundy iridescent silk taffeta gown, simple yet beautiful, with an off the shoulder neckline and a bodice with center front panel of matching burgundy and gold brocade. Her hair is pinned in a low bun at the back of her neck.

"I look…"

"-like a lady," he continues in a soft drawl as she drifts off, his lips brushing her ear.

"This may be a dream, but I bet that if I blow your heart up, it will at least hurt."

She doesn't move away from him and the frost of her words is contradicted by the pleased smile on her lips as she can't take her eyes off her reflection.

Damon smirks, surrounding her waist with his arm and pulling her against him.

"I've always known you were a closeted sadist, Bennett."

It's yet another instance where she might move away but chooses to not do it. It probably has nothing to do with this dream being his creation and more with the fact that she feels …coddled. In the real world she felt sleepy and blue, but in here she's a queen.

"I'm not sure you were allowed to get this close and personal with respectable ladies back in 1864, Mr. Salvatore." She shrugs and adds, "Then again I wouldn't be considered a respectable lady back in 1864." Her eyes cloud.

He had offered to show her how the original founders celebrated those recurrences her townsfolk are so set on remembering, just to satisfy an old curiosity of hers. However, she knows where her place would be at an event like this back in the day. Where Emily and countless others who looked like her were.

"True, but I can't say I was big on respecting conventionality, even back then."

Bonnie scrutinizes his features carefully in the mirror, intrigued by the quiet intensity she finds there and in his voice. Damon gives out peeks of honesty as often as Kelly Donovan gives out peeks of cleavage, and pretty much with the same intent, but the witch can tell this, _now_, is different.

"I believe you," she says quietly.

He steps back, distancing himself from her, but never disengaging his gaze from her reflection.

After a moment of consideration, he schools his expression into a mask of seriousness and holds out his hand to her, bending at the waist a little. "Will you dance with me, _Miss_ Bennett?"

When she turns around fully and places her bare palm on his, a wave of feeling runs through her.

Then something occurs to her, clearing her mind of that confusing euphoria.

"You know I can't dance like them, right?" She inclines toward the dancing couples at the center of the salon, looking so proper and graceful in their every movement of.

Damon clasps her brown hand in both of his, gently but firmly, a fiendish light in his blue eyes. "I know it might kill you, little witch, but you shall have to _trust_ me and allow me to _lead_."


	5. Special Needs

**Title: Special Needs**

**Author:** **skysamuelle**  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon  
**Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at ****bubbly_fics****. ****Prompt:** Phone Sex

**Summary:** Damon and Bonnie enjoy the wonders of power play and phone sex.  
**Rated:** Mature

* * *

When the trilling of her cell phone became endless, Bonnie Bennett relented with a half-muffled groan and finally flipped it open. Her boyfriend's name flashed on display and she frowned, glancing back at the clock on her bedside and realizing it was 3:00 AM.

"Damon? Has someone died? "

Hopefully that wasn't the case, but it was Mystic Falls after all, so you never knew for certain. Especially since Bonnie, Elena, and Caroline had taken a five day break from their hometown for a girls-only getaway at the Spa. It was Caroline's idea to dispel the strain the past year had put on their bond, which was unavoidable since Caroline was now dating Tyler- Bonnie's ex- while Bonnie was dating Damon, who happened to be both Caroline's abusive ex and Elena's obsessive suitor. No need to say there had been little warmth between the three girls lately, so this was definitely an emergency measure to remind themselves that what they used to have was worth holding on to, regardless of their _other_ attachments.

Bonnie had been away for 3 days. Surely that wasn't long enough to…

"I miss you"

The vampire's voice came in a very awake, lightly petulant purr. Bonnie snuggled in between the covers of her bed and closed her eyes, barely believing his nerve.

"Are you drunk?"

"Give me some credit. It's 3 AM, woman."

He didn't sound drunk, and that relieved her a bit. Damon Salvatore could create all sorts of trouble when inebriated and without someone to contain him. Nonetheless, she scoffed into the phone.

"Exactly! Did you even consider that maybe, just maybe, I was sleeping?"

"But fortunately you aren't anymore. I'm so horny, baby. "

"You got hands, Damon. Use them and let me sleep."

"What do you think I've been doing so far, honey? It's just not the same."

Sitting up on her hotel room bed, Bonnie yawned and snapped a resigned, "I'm so flattered."

She sounded anything but, and she didn't feel bad about it, for once. She couldn't believe how egocentric her boyfriend was, _all the time_. She had to be a masochist to find it attractive.

Her lack of enthusiasm, naturally, didn't put a damper on Damon's intent. He had always loved pissing her off, so the witch wouldn't be surprised if he considered it a bonus.

"You know that orange and cinnamon essence you use as a perfume? The one you keep on your dresser, in plain sight? I sprayed it all over the sheet the first night you were away. It was just like having you right there with me while I stroked myself."

"You are _such_ a stalker…" Bonnie interrupted him softly, shaking her head, unable to accept that she kind of thought his obsessive streak was _sweet_. His tone grew suggestive as he went on, utterly ignoring her observation in pure Damon-style, and she could only lie back against her fluffy pillow, letting that warm drawl flow through her.

"It's just not enough anymore, little bird. I miss your skin under my hands, my tongue. I miss those lovely helpless sounds you make when you're getting desperate for it. And I definitely miss my morning blowjob. I love how it feels, your mouth around me, all wet and warm and _good_. I love it when you swallow all I got to give, and that _heady_ scent of arousal you give off while you do. "

The witch trembled, a wave of heat filling her unexpectedly and pinning her body down. He was too good at this, and he knew dirty talk always made her uncomfortable, confused about how she was supposed to respond to it, and vaguely helpless against her arousal. Especially when he took it too far, which he did, _often_, since he loved having the upper hand.

"Don't you wish you were right here with me, Bonnie? On your knees, sucking me off, while I hold your head and look down on that delicious ass of yours? "

She bit the inside of her cheek and trembled again, her thighs clenching shut of their own accord. She loved how it felt when her name rolled off his tongue during anything remotely sexual. He made it sound so profane, but so cherished too, and the intimacy of it got to her every damned time.

Still, she was quiet.

"Tell me what you're wearing."

Damon's tone shifted from dirty and warm to hard and commanding in a heartbeat. Regardless of how much she usually loved to put him in his place, she couldn't deny that she also found that darker, dominating side of him terribly sexy as well.

"Remember the gold satin Chinese pajamas with the mandarin collar?" she murmured, giving in and rolling on her stomach.

"I remember those shorts. The first time I saw you in that ensemble, they made me to want pull them down and pound into that sweet little cunt. Hard. And From behind."

She smiled at his slight intake of breath and imagined him stroking his erect cock while he spoke to her. The tendrils of heat curling low in her womb coiled tighter, and she wet her lips, gathering courage.

"I seem to recall it was exactly what you did. Are you naked?"

She felt naughty at hearing how coy her voice sounded to her ears. She _did_ miss his body, now that she thought of it. The way it felt against hers, sinewy and slender, cool skin and burning eyes welcoming her touch as she rode him.

"Naked and ready to go, baby doll," he growled, and it painted a smirk on her dry mouth.

"I bet your fangs are out already. Don't you wish you could bite me now? Having my blood on your tongue as you move inside me? "

By answer, he growled again, and her smirk melted in a Cheshire cat grin as she undid the buttons of her collar. Then a less than thrilling thought ran through her mind, reining in her excitement. She abruptly stopped unbuttoning her top.

"Tell me we're not giving Stefan a mental picture."

"What?" On his side, Damon snarled indignantly. She could hear the clattering of his fangs as they ground against each other, and imagined the way he was probably squaring his jaw, looking all tense and wrathful. _Hot._

"Remember last time we were together before I left? You didn't exactly fall over yourself to warn me that your brother was in the house. "

"Haven't you given me enough grief about that?" he muttered, obviously not happy. "Like I would ever allow him to picture you naked and touching yourself. I had to _pay_ that stupid blonde Mutt to take His Broodingness somewhere else to wrinkle his forehead for the night!"

Bonnie laughed low, despite herself. She was the littlest bit touched by his lame attempt at protecting her modesty. Although it forced her to wonder what the hell her boyfriend had been up to in the times before he called her, and if she really wanted to know.

[A1] "You are such a deviant," the witch replied idly, not quite stifling a sigh of longing. "I have no idea why it makes me want to jump your psychotic ass."

"I do: it's a great ass."

"If you say so."

She shrugged the tension gathering in her small frame off her shoulders and used her telekinetic powers to mold two invisible hands that mimicked his, feeling her up through her pajamas.

"Are you wet already?"

"Yes."

Bonnie kept caressing herself, reproducing his touch to the T through a suddenly vivid sensory memory, the right balance between rough and careful as those invisible palms ran from her breasts to her waist, lingering, sliding under her top to meet her skin. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend Damon was right here, above her.

"How wet?"

Just seconds ago, the hard and imperious undercurrent in his voice would have convinced her to shut off her phone. Now it only makes her toes curl in anticipation as she plays along, her tone flirty but almost shy, like she's still resisting and he is still in control.

"…very"

"Then touch yourself for me, baby. I want to hear you gasping and stuttering my name."

"I'm already doing it, just not with hands."

The thick pause that ensues reassures her that the bare edge of guilty wantonness in her answer got her vampire exactly where she wanted him. So she pushed just a little further, increasing the pressure of that phantom touch on her flesh, on her belly and around her tight nipples.

"Telekinesis is truly a wonderful talent you know. I can get the shape of your hands just right and the imprint of your teeth on my skin… "

Damon groans lust thick in his words when he manages to talk. "I want you so fucking bad."

"How bad?"

"Enough to not ever let you leave this hellhole again, unless I'm tagging along."

Bonnie shifted, spreading her legs a little and slipping her hand inside her shorts.

"Tell me what you're doing now," she demanded, her fingertips skimming over the lace covering her center and rubbing on the moist spot she found.

"Playing with myself and picturing you wide open for me, biting that full mouth of yours as your eyes beg me to fuck you. Your knees drawn up while you finger your dripping, warm cunt, _missing me_… "

He stops, his sharp inhalation clearly impatient as much it is aroused, and she smiles smugly as her fingers push lace aside and twist her nub eagerly.

"Oh, I'm missing you _very badly_ right now."

"Good, because when you come back I'll do extremely evil things to you."

"Promise?"

She thrusts two fingers inside her wet heat, abruptly, pushing deeper with a deliberate roughness while keeping an invisible thumb going in torturously slow circles around her clitoris. Damon grunted into her ear and she could picture him perfectly fine from behind lowered eyelids, stroking himself in earnest now. Her hips bucked up violently, craving more friction, but craving him even more.

"I wish I could come on you," she confessed, soft and conspiratorial as she tried to delay the ripples of pleasure coursing through every fiber of her body.

"Then pretend. Pretend I'm right there with you, little bird. Just where I want to be…" He stopped again, a guttural snarl escaping his lips.

"Keep talking," Bonnie moaned, feeling like the precipice was so damn close, and she couldn't find it unless his voice led the way. "I need you."

"Come for me, Bonnie. Let me hear you…" she could taste it, the needful desire in his words and it made her feel like she was about to crawl out of her skin. Damon was almost _begging_, and it was the hottest thing he could have done to her.

So she gave him what he wanted, breaking his name apart and dragging every syllable on her tongue the exact way she had learnt he could not resist.

He responded immediately to her, just like she knew he would, and the witch recognized with aching familiarity the sounds of his release, a subdued roar that pulled at something deep inside her, forcing her to follow her lover into the abyss.

When she finally came back to herself, the blissful fog dissipating as her harsh breath calmed down, her skin still tingled pleasantly. Her limbs were so relaxed that she felt boneless and weightless.

Sex with Damon worked so much better than a day at a Spa. But, of course, she would never admit it to him. He already had a big enough ego.


	6. Choices

**Title: Choices**

**Author:** **skysamuelle**  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon, Stefan/Elena  
**Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at ****bubbly_fics****. ****Prompt:** Bonnie gets jealous!

**Summary: Elena wants to be a vampire. The idea doesn't sit well with Stefan and Bonnie.**  
**Rated:** PG

Bonnie Bennett never used to be the possessive girlfriend back in those not so distant days when she was human. Partly because she thought that if you were that insecure about keeping something, then it was never yours in first place; and partly because she had a tendency to end up dating possessive types, and they usually filled the manic jealousy quota for the relationship on their own. Becoming a vampire changes her outlook on this a bit, because territoriality goes with her new nature. Yet even then, she never had a real reason to be truly jealous. It doesn't matter how rocky their relationship had been at the beginning, since she and Damon had gotten serious and official, he treated like she was the center of his universe.

Sure, she would sometimes get excessively angry when the random shop girl or waitress tried to flirt with him, but that was mostly because her senses perceived it as a violation of her territory, and he was her mate.

Still, she never felt truly threatened by anyone where Damon was concerned. After 10 years of being together, they had become a two-person unit, and he still focused so much on her that it sometimes became too much for her independent nature. She had not wanted to be a vampire for the longest time, but she had eventually let him sire her because she had understood that losing her would have damaged him too much, destroying that precarious balance he had taken so long to reach. They needed each other to be the best they could become: this was a truth she had long stopped fighting.

She had wanted to give him something everyone else had denied him: a forever lasting peace.

Eternity took one disquieting turn when Elena decided she wanted to be a vampire in order to have forever with her Stefan. Stefan expressed himself vehemently against the idea. He loved Elena too much to wish what he considered to be a curse on her. He feared how vampirism could change her. Elena was ready to run the risk and was growing progressively agitated now that the age difference between her and her husband was becoming too noticeable. He was forever seventeen and she was approaching her thirties, so Stefan's reassurances about making it work and holding on a normal human life were losing their effect. The matter became, over time, an issue of constant arguments between them.

Bonnie felt for her friend, although they were no longer as close as they used to be. Life had taken the two girls in very different places, and they had both accepted without any animosity that each one of them had found someone else to rank first on their priority list.

The two couples still saw each other fairly often, even taking little summer trips together every year, but for the rest Stefan and Elena lived as immersed in their human suburbia in Toronto, as much as Damon and Bonnie were immersed in the supernatural community of Prague.

So when Bonnie received the call that Elena was coming to visit, solo, she just thought her childhood companion was searching for a break.

That illusion vanished as soon as Elena sat in her kitchen before a cup of jasmine tea and subtly insinuated the possibility that Bonnie complied where Stefan refused to.

Obviously the witch refused, firmly stating that she didn't want to create further resentments between Elena and Stefan.

Just as obviously, Elena acted like she was accepting Bonnie's disposition on the matter and didn't press further. But she hung around often, and the distance created between Damon and Elena since she had chosen Stefan seemed to diminish.

And Bonnie knew exactly where this lovely renewal of friendship was leading. Damon would have just loved the chance to one-up Stefan and ruin his cherished pretence of humanity by turning his wife, and Elena was biding her time until Damon offered, in friendship, to dissolve all her problems.

The vampire witch didn't even remember the last time something had offended and enraged her this much.

Sure, Damon and Elena respected each other.

Sure, both of them weren't exactly known to think of the consequences of their actions, and neither of them was probably even considering the strain this choice would put on their marriages.

Elena has been defined as 'beautiful,' 'confident,' 'exciting,' and 'desirable' for so long that it was no wonder that losing that status undermined her sense of identity, especially when her husband was so much younger looking and passersby or neighbors had stopped gushing on how cute and in love they looked in favor of commenting on how close that handsome boy and his big sister looked.

Damon had defined himself as Stefan's personal tormentor and rival for so long that he didn't truly know how to stop, even now when this role served no greater purpose.

Bonnie understood, and she loved them, but the whole situation still made her wish she could drain Elena for good.

This was _her mate_, and this constant interference in their life was growing insufferable, well-intentioned or not.

She exploded one evening when she returned to their apartment after participating in a meeting with the local witches' coven to find Elena and Damon on the couch, side by side, chatting. They looked cozy and in a good mood, more comfortable together than Bonnie would have liked. Although there was no guilt in either of their expressions or eyes as they turned towards her, obviously pleased to see her home, the vampire witch felt a wave of anger coursing through her.

Her gaze was hard as it narrowed on them, and her face dark. Damon's eyes met hers speculatively while Elena supplied a worried-sounding, "Bonnie, what's happened?"

"Nothing big, Elena, but I need to talk to my husband alone, if you don't mind."

The vampire witch hears herself answering, her tone cool and clipped, but not openly hostile.

Elena looks puzzled, but the unfamiliarity of the shadows lurking behind Bonnie's features persuades her to let it go and bid her goodbyes. This wasn't a side of her childhood friend she knew well, but Damon, on the contrary, knew how to read the signs.

"She was waiting for you," he stated casually as soon as the door closed at his sister-in-law's back.

Bonnie smirked sardonically and shook her head. "Let's stop pretending we don't know what she wants from us, Damon. She is buttering you up for a reason, and you are making it clear that you don't mind."

Damon's tone grew serious and he licked his lips, his blue eyes intense on her face like they were trying to pour all his sincerity into her. "Anything she used to mean to me is finished now, like it never existed. You are everything I want. There will never be anyone else for me."

"I know," she admitted, satisfied that he wasn't denying anything but also frustrated that he was trying to mollify her. "But you still want to turn her. "

"For _Stefan_, not for me."

"Can't you see it won't matter in the long run? If you help her become a vampire, Stefan won't want to have anything to do with anyone of us for a long time. This means that Elena will depend on us for learning the ropes for gods only know how long. Our life will change, and you can't promise otherwise. She will stand between us, whether she means it or not, and how could I let go the fact that you allowed her to? And even if this doesn't take you from me, it will ruin my friendship with her."

"You are being silly," Damon rolled his eyes, finding her entire reasoning senseless. "You of all people should know I don't find desperation a turn-on on anyone, regardless of my history with them. If I don't turn Elena, Stefan will keep being stubborn and not do the one smart thing he can. Hell, he will probably keep holding Elena's hand until she looks like his grandmother. And when she dies, he'll take the ring off in a last pathetic display of unnecessary martyrdom and will walk in the sunlight. I can hate my brother, but I can't allow him to be that much of an idiot!"

He didn't articulate the concept beyond that, but Bonnie didn't need more. Stefan has always been Damon's one constant despite all the issues and the differences of opinion, and underneath the layers and layers of rivalry and resentment and guilt there was still a lot of love.

But understanding his motivations was a very different thing from agreeing. "Then we'll take care of the problem when it's almost here. We'll force him to see sense if necessary. But this is _their_ problem, Damon, _their_ choice, _their _decision, and you have to respect it."

"Why?" he seethed, pacing impatiently, unable to grasp why she was making the issue bigger than it was. For what it's worth to him, they could sigil Elena in a box and mail it to her sanctimonious husband as soon she had vampire blood in her system and her neck snapped. Bonnie was the one who had insisted on maintaining family relations in first place! He would have been just as fine if he could have had his wife all to himself. This was a stupid problem and it had a simple solution, and yet Stefan and Bonnie were tiptoeing around it like self-sacrifice was their personal vocation. Stefan loved Elena, Bonnie loved Elena, Elena helped Bonnie and Stefan to function as eternity elapsed, and Damon needed Bonnie and Stefan to remain sane so he could be sane too. If Elena wanted to live forever, where the fuck was the problem?

Bonnie's eyes flashed black." Because I'm asking you to! Because I need to know you're choosing to protect what we have!"

Damon didn't exactly understand what came over him in the following seconds. He wanted to insist that Elena was no threat, and that he would never allow anyone to come between him and his witch. He wanted to rage at her lack of faith. He wanted to snarl that he did whatever he wanted and she had no right to demand otherwise.

But there was something under the frustration that twisted under Bonnie's features right then, something he knew so well. It was fear.

He saw then that if he uttered one word more about Elena and her swan song, he would accomplish nothing but feed that fear.

It wasn't worth it. If Elena wanted to be a vampire so badly, she could go and find someone else to stifle her life. And if Stefan wanted to be stupid, Damon would just lock him somewhere until his suicide urges passed.

If Bonnie needed this to stay secure of his affections… it was such a little thing.

He raised his arms in exasperation, as if bracing himself against an invisible wall.

"Fine! Be stubborn all you want! But you're the one who's going to call Stefan and convince him to take back his ball and chain! I have no patience for their usual soap opera drama, and I won't play Oprah with either of them! Are we clear?"

Perhaps he was physically unable to lay down his weapons and admit candidly how whipped he was, but his choice would _always_ be Bonnie.

And Bonnie had to know it, on some level, because in a flash she was in front of him, grabbing his collar.

"Crystal!" she growled, fangs grazing her bottom lip before she kissed him hard.


	7. Maid Cafè Madness

**Title: Maid Café Madness**

**Author:** **skysamuelle**  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon, Caroline/Tyler  
**Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at ****bubbly_fics****.**

**Summary: **Another fund raiser rolls around and once again Caroline Forbes never fails to disappoint in this year's theme; a maid cafe.

**Rated:** PG

* * *

As with every provincial small town worthy of this definition, Mystic Falls had its snobbish, conservative little traditions. Fund raising was, unfortunately for Bonnie Bennett, one among those.

The young witch had truly proved to have the worst luck when it came to these kinds of events, particularly when said events were organized by head cheerleader and her best friend Caroline Forbes.

Last year, the theme Caroline had chosen to exploit was 'car washing in bikini' and the initiative had met huge success. Except for the part where she'd fallen into a trance and accidentally set a car on fire. All Tikki's fault. Bonnie hated with a passion those elite- branded situations where cheerleaders were authorized to behave like bitches only because the spotlight was on them.

It made her feel responsible for every bullish prank by association.

But that had nothing to do with the current reason the youngest Bennett resented fundraisers, small towns, and blonde bossy friends. Another fund raiser had rolled around and Caroline was absolutely set on besting last year's success. So this year's theme was … a Maid Café.

Bonnie blamed the idea on the bad influence of Caroline's new boyfriend, Tyler Lockwood, and the flat boredom that had the rest of the cheerleading squad squeaking in excitement at the initiative.

Maid cafés are a subcategory of Japanese cosplay restaurants where waitresses dressed in maid costumes act as servants and treat customers as masters (and mistresses) in a private home, rather than as café patrons. Tyler was a closet manga and anime fan, a fact Bonnie had found extremely funny when she had discovered it back when they had a fling.

It was not so funny now. She blamed her current predicament on Tyler's stupid fetishes.

Caroline had all of her cheerleaders dressed like French Maids, in an ensemble composed of a white and black dress which reached just above their knees with a _petticoat_, a _pinafore_, white stockings and associated visible garters, and a red bow in their curly hair, which were styled to form short ringlets. And since Caroline also thought that adding a gothic touch would make her girls sexier, black lipstick and nail polish completed the masquerade.

Bonnie didn't feel sexy serving her customers, she felt like she was joining in the cast of a porn movie!

Sure, they were doing this for charity. It didn't make the idea that every single boy she had taken orders from and smiled at today was probably having very dirty thoughts about her and her friends any less annoying.

Suddenly, the witch envied Elena for having quit the team before the madness started.

She could not believe she was actually participating in this… chauvinistic display.

Grams was probably rolling in her grave.

Which was exactly what she had repeated to Damon yesterday. He had laughed and replied that she was being her usual serious, uptight self.

She had never wished so badly that they were still bitter archenemies. This way, if –when- he showed up, and tormented her with lame-ass quips over her ridiculous appearance, she would have no problem causing all kinds of bodily harm to him.

Now that they were quasi-friends, she would just feel too bad inflicting some casual but probably deserved pain.

When Damon strolled in, his Armani black shirt and black pants fitting him so perfectly and making some of her teammates gush, and scrutinized the area of the Mystic Grill they had rented for the occasion, evidently looking for something specific, Bonnie's first instinct was to hide. Or to run. Expatriate in some far away country he would never step in, not even for the kicks of making fun of her.

Then his eyes found her, and she felt…hot, and whether it was from the embarrassment or something else she didn't want to know.

His gaze narrowed on target and it _burned_, raking all over her form, drinking in every detail of her outfit. For a moment his body tensed, but then he squared his shoulders and scanned the room again. He stalked toward her, hands in his pockets, his best sexy-but-innocent smile on.

Bonnie braced herself for whatever crass joke his devious mind was devising and trying to dissimulate before he could spring it on her.

But Damon just handed her a smooth, "Scotch on the rocks for me, pretty girl," walked past the frowning witch, and sat down at the booth nearest her.

Bonnie took her sweet time bringing the drink to him, hoping against all reason that this would give him another reason to bitch at her.

The vampire circumvented all her fears once more, because when his scotch was set in front of him, he didn't act like his usual snarky self.

He simply looked her up and down intensely, sipped his drink and glanced around the room quickly, his features twisting briefly in a sour grimace. Bonnie couldn't possibly guess that, at that moment, her nemesis was trying to process an unexpected but imperative urge to cover her with his jacket and snatch her away: he did not want anyone else to look at her and feel what he was feeling.

"Just say it, Damon."

"Say what?"

"Whatever supposedly clever line you're cooking. I'm perfectly aware of the ridiculousness of my situation, so spit it out and get it over with."

Damon's lips twitched in a sarcastic smile. "Believe me; the last thing you look is ridiculous."

She rolled her eyes, sighing impatiently. "I like it better when your insults are clearer."

"How am I insulting you?"

"I don't know yet, why don't you tell me?"

The vampire tilted his head aside and studied her again with his unsettling thoroughness, licking his lips before adding, "Nasty mood or not, you look like a doll. A Victorian doll, not some kind of sex toy, I mean…and it's not an insult. It makes me want to eat you up."

He said it so seriously, it nearly sounded like a compliment he wanted to pay her, without quite knowing how to go about it.

"Oh."

Bonnie didn't know how to respond to that. Was Damon Salvatore _babbling_? She was confused about what she wanted that to mean. Because it had to mean something, right? Did she really want it to mean anything?

Fortunately she didn't have time to come up with a suitable reaction because there were clients waiting to be served at the corner table.

A cool hand closing around her wrist prevented her from excusing herself.

"I've been to one of these places, you know. In Osaka. You're supposed to keep supplying me and keep me _entertained_ until I'm ready to leave."

"I don't even want to know what you mean by _that_." She scoffed and uselessly slapped his hand with the menu.

"Just sit with me," he snapped gruffly, before he downed his drink. "Bring the bottle."

For whatever reason, the witch hesitated to refuse him straight and proper. She eyed Caroline, who was watching from across the room with a pinched expression. "Just wait a moment."

Damon actually dropped her wrist, letting her go. Bonnie reached her blonde best friend, tempted to justify herself and invent a pathetic excuse on why she would have wanted to sit with the older Salvatore, when they were always bickering.

Caroline stopped her first, patting her shoulder: "Good idea, B. Insult him or flatter him, but keep the asshole drinking. I want his wallet on a plate when this is over."

Feeling equal parts guilty and relieved, Bonnie ended up accepting with a simple, "Okay."

Returning to a smirking Damon with a bottle of scotch, she shook her head lightly at his smugness.

"Stop oozing attitude and just tell me about this travel to Japan of yours. Just leave out the depraved parts."

"Those are the best parts!" Damon mock-complained, like a child, and that was how Bonnie knew he would begin his story with those exact parts she wished to hear the least.

Yet, she couldn't help but feel like her evening was looking up.


	8. The Deal

**Title: The deal**

**Author: **sky samuelle

**Rating: **pg14

**Summary: **"Honey, the chances of me playing hero with your little desperate group of amateur vigilantes is as good as _you_ offering _me_ your lovely throat for an evening drink."

**Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon, implied Stefan/Elena

**WORDS: **1290

"You offered your blood to Stefan. I never thought I would have seen the day… " the lazy drawl that drifts out from the shadows as Bonnie closes Stefan's door behind her back is laced with poison.

The witch turns around slowly, not at all surprised to find Damon Salvatore looking at her with contempt from the other side of the hallway.

"He's seriously hurt," she reminds him softly, knowing she needs to tread carefully around him now. Elena is inside the room holding her boyfriend's hand while he drifts in and out consciousness, and Damon has been back to the sadistic, violent, volatile version of himself ever since Elena chose Stefan _again _a few months before. These days, motivating the older Salvatore to snap necks is as easy as pushing Caroline into a shopping spree, and with a certain young couple nearby, exchanging soulful glances and whispered reassurances …

Bonnie considers the entire situation ridiculous, because it's absurd that Damon, in nearly two centuries, has found no other way to deal with rejection than hating his brother and going psycho on her town.

"He's a martyr," the vampire spits sarcastically and shrugs, his cold eyes crinkling in humorless amusement.

He follows her as she descends the stairs, and she tries not to be nervous over it.

"He's your brother, and he needs you. With those new water-demons in town, he's bitten off more than he can chew."

"You say that like you think I care if he dies. Let me assure you I don't. Elena is welcome to cry all over his grave and I'll laugh in her face while she does. She has made the choice, hasn't she? I have no reason to play nice anymore."

Bonnie stops, turning back and toward him despite herself. Even if her good sense is telling her to close this conversation as soon as she can, something deep inside her rebels at the idea of swallowing all of Damon's resentful bullshit.

"You won't hate him forever, Damon," she reminds him, her tone stern and impatient whilst she steps back from the sudden physical proximity with her enemy. She has never understood Damon's preference for speaking straight into her face.

"You wanna bet?"

"Mystic Falls is your town too. Helping us will keep it safe for _you_ to live in, too," the witch insists more heatedly.

Damon shakes off her argument with one of those smug, uncaring smirks she hates so much. "Honey, the chances of me playing hero with your little desperate group of amateur vigilantes is as good as _you_ offering _me_ your lovely throat for an evening drink."

Bonnie tilts her head aside and regards him oddly, green eyes clouding in suspicion.

"Is that a proposition?"

Damon blinks repeatedly, taken aback for a moment. "Would you take it?"

The witch stares back at him unwaveringly, face expressionless as she swallows hard. He shifts his weight from a foot to the other anticipating the instant she will back out of it.

"Yes," she says instead, and Damon has never known he wanted this so much until he knew this was an actual possibility. The idea of running his canines along her skin alone does things to his mind that he never thought possible.

"Then," he repeats, still a bit incredulous, "we have a deal."

Short of five minutes later they are in the mansion's study, and she is stiff and unflinching in front of him. She nearly jumps out of her skin as his hand closes around her forearm and pulls her closer, a bit too roughly. When he sweeps her beautiful black hair away from the vulnerable curve of her neck, the witch is shivering and biting on the inside of her cheek, obviously scared despite her determination to not be.

"It won't hurt if you relax," he remarks, more gently than he means, feeling a bit in awe of what he is about to do and yet finding her fear more than a little downgrading.

"Easy for you to say," Bonnie snaps, sounding shaken, not bitter like he would have expected. "It's not like you ripped off my throat before."

"I didn't even _see_ you that time. This will be very different. I'm going to be _gentle._"

The way his lips move around the word 'gentle' makes it sound at least twelve different brands of dirty and Bonnie finds her nerves wreaking with something else than fear .

A cool mouth brushes her cheek, lingering almost tenderly over her heating skin before tracing the contours of her jaw repeatedly. His lips stay closed but she can feel them quivering against her flesh during their quest. His hands are on the small of her back, grasping without any coercing force, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as she gets used to this entirely new kind of contact.

It's not until her heartbeat slows down imperceptibly that Damon's lips transform those soft brushings into ghost kisses that follow the arch of her neck with a worshipful insistence, but by then Bonnie is not thinking anymore, too caught in the strange, languorous, pleasant feeling that is spreading from her skin to every other part of her.

"Oh," she grasps, low and breathless as sharp fangs suddenly nip at the base of her throat, playful. There's no fear here and now, only a very intense awareness of everywhere their bodies are touching, and of how his larger frame is absorbing her bodily warmth.

His nose presses hard against her pulse-point and she notices Damon is trembling too, breathing her scent in and out. She melts against him without wanting to, and she doesn't mutter one word of protest when he fists her hair and tugs her head back, not quite roughly but none too gently neither.

She knows she should be protesting when his tongue runs slowly from her collarbone to the tip of her chin, because, frankly, this is not what she signed up for…. But she doesn't care.

Right or wrong, unnatural or normal, she doesn't want this to stop. It feels too damn amazing.

And in typical Damon fashion, as soon as Bonnie has realized that, he has pushed her into an armchair and forced an offensive amount of distance between their bodies.

"What?" the witch questions, frustrated.

Damon's ink black eyes roam all over her while the vampire licks his lips slowly, but he doesn't come any closer or make any move to finish what he has started.

He explains himself – and with a disturbingly chipper tone- only when the veins around his eyes are no longer engorged and his irises are back to a brilliant blue.

"Just testing your resolve. I promised I would have helped if you offered a vein, I never said I would have accepted."

And Bonnie would be incensed, if his argument made any sense at all, even in a Damon-sorts-of-logic.

As a matter of fact, she sees red for a full eight seconds before the stupidity of his reply catches up with her.

Witch blood is powerful and Damon never turns away any human blood anyway, so what the hell is his problem?

The truth is that Damon is _chickening out of it, _and the panic is written all over every excessively stiff feature of his arrogantly handsome visage.

"Seriously?"

"Believe me little witch, I'm very satisfied as it is."

The impish grin he throws at her while he does what Elena used to call 'his eye thing' would pass for endearing if he didn't immediately ruin it with a lewd, "You know how delectable you smell when you're turned on?"

Blushing up to the roots of her hair doesn't hinder Bonnie from giving the stupid pervert a painful aneurism.


	9. The Next Girl

**THE NEXT GIRL**

**Author: **sky samuelle

**Rating: **pg14

**Prompt:** "Next Girl" by The Black Keys

**Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon

**WORDS: **273

* * *

When Damon looks back at his past, it's like his life history is split into two eras: Before Bonnie and After Bonnie.

The admission might sound corny inside his head, but it doesn't truly feel that way. Before Bonnie had him, there were Katherine and Elena and he remembers how loving them was a painful dance with Self-Loathing and Self-Boosting. The two women became a blur within his mind over the decades, the memories they evoked inspiring feelings both similar and different.

Back in those days he only knew one way to be in love and it was fever, a lightning bolt.

Back in those days he thought being loved meant being accepted into someone else's heart even if he was feeding the most evil instincts he had. It was part of what drew him to Katherine and Elena: whereas his father and his brother had looked down on his flaws, Katherine appreciated them and Elena always forgave them.

Bonnie never quite loved him that way. Even today, after almost a century of being a vampire, of sharing his bed and his life, of being fiercely happy at his side, he knows there are things she would never accept from him.

She would never resign to see him fall prey to his baser nature, would never allow him to be the worst incarnation of himself.

She will fight for him and with him, but if he was to give up on himself, giving the darkness free reign, she would leave him even if it broke her warm, beautiful heart irreversibly. That's why he feels safe with her in his arms.


	10. Shadows At Midnight

_**Shadows At Midnight **_

_**Author: **__sky samuelle_

_**Rating: **__pg14_

_**Prompt:**__ Bonnie starts to fall for Damon only to be haunted by the many ghosts of the people he's killed. Written for the Bamon Drabble Party –Edition Two_

_**Pairing: **__Bonnie/Damon_

_**WORDS: **__273_

* * *

Bonnie does not want to be attracted to _him_ and it has nothing to do with his being near obsessed with Elena and everything to do with the fact that he is everything she despises.

Arrogance, Selfishness, Narcissism, Pettiness, an air of self-entitlement… random murdering tendencies and a raging psychosis… that's what his flawless pale skin, expressive sky blue eyes and quick wit distract from.

Yet there's the way _he_ never holds anything offensive or threatening she says or does to him against her. The way she is slowly getting used to his presence in her world. The way she feels the electricity crackling in the air _whenever _their eyes meet and their tempers clash.

Bonnie was never a fan of willing blindness but this strange feeling, it's not something she can accept. Even if _he_ has randomly proved that there's more than evil inside him.

Sometimes he is genuinely gentle, protective, or just decent to people he is not trying to gain anything from.

It's no excuse.

In the middle of the night, some nights, she wakes up to the sound of a rocking chair.

_Grams_- she will think with a half-formed smile, her jumbled mind returning to those childhood evenings her grandmother gathered her in her lap, on her rocking chair, stroking her hair and speaking softly of arcane old tales.

It's never Grams she sees, and deep down, when Bonnie allows herself to reason out those _nightly encounters _lucidly, she thinks this is her fair punishment for betraying her beliefs in such a substantial way.

The young witch will squint and in the darkness her eyes will find familiar outlines.

Vicky and Mason, sitting cross-legged on her floor, whispering conspiratorially to each other. Bonnie can never quite make out their words, but somehow she knows whatever they are talking about doesn't really matter.

They never look like they are angry with her, although she would prefer it if they were.

Mason's eyes are always sad and his expression sympathetic. "Try sleeping with a broken heart," he will always say, shaking his head lightly, like he's excusing himself and his presence in her room, "it's really not that easy."

Vicky is always wearing a broken smile, nodding, acting as fidgety in death as she was in life. She never talks to Bonnie, and the witch is not surprised because she doesn't think she deserves it.

Sometimes Caroline is there too, sitting on the edge of Bonnie's bed, and it's not the confident, lively vampire who inhabits Mystic Falls nowadays. It's the insecure human girl whose heart Damon stomped on carelessly, with the purple indent of a bite where her neck meets her bare shoulder.

"I consider you my best friend," the blonde girl murmurs affectionately, with tired, hurt eyes that beg for help.

There are other, accusing faces poking through the darkness, faces she can barely make out because everything vanishes before she can either blink or say anything to lift the weight of anguish sitting on her chest.

On those haunted nights, Bonnie will refuse to analyze why her powers are putting her through this torment. She will just turn on her other side, close her eyes once more and breathe deeply until sleep sweeps the guilt away.


	11. Drunk Dialing for Dummies

**Drunk Dialing for Dummies**

**Author:** skysamuelle  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon  
**Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Summary: **Drunk and upset is always a bad combination where Damon Salvatore is concerned.

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt:** drunk dialing

* * *

Damon spent the week following the tomb's opening in a drunken, sex-filled haze. He was trying to keep his mind busy for the most part. When he was fucking and feeling good, he was not forced to pay attention to the despair waiting to envelop him as soon he lowered his guard.

Truth be told, for the first time since he was turned he was scared. Life without Katherine was one thing but life without the _idea_ of Katherine? That was the absence of any feeling, a vacuum with no poetry, a private hell without any windows on the world outside.

He had lived in the waiting, the anticipation of finally proving to his dark goddess that he loved her most, that he loved her best, that he was the better vampire, the one worthy of siring.

He had tried switching his feelings off at first, but the panic had been overwhelming after the first minutes of relief. Without Katherine there was just…_nothing._ No future, no past, no sense of who he was or who he was going to be.

Being drunk and heartbroken was better than being a walking vacuum.

One night, he brings three pretty co-eds back to the mansion (he prefers his girls in matching sets, so the air between them never laps into irritating, sentimental silence): two red-head twins and a spirited brunette. The brunette has soft dark skin and shiny black curls and a nice mouth, and that brings another girl to mind.

Another girl he had promised to protect and whose throat he had ripped out. A girl whose heart was broken too because he had wanted Katherine back so badly.

Bonnie Bennett smelled like honeysuckles and spice, and she tasted like a slice of pagan heaven.

As his hands pulled the dark-skinned co-ed 's locks away from her neck, Damon thought of broken promises and Bonnie's blood staining the grass.

So much blood and rage spilled in Katherine Pierce's name, and it wasn't even worth anything.

It occurred to him that Bonnie was the closest thing to a daughter he would have ever had, although the idea of having fatherly feelings toward the girl was laughable. That thought put him in a strange mood.

That night his fingers dialed her number – he had taken it from Caroline Forbes at the time when he was stalking the little witch on a mad quest for his amber necklace- and yes, he knew it was a stupid idea, but when had this ever stopped him before?

Damon Salvatore did whatever hell he wanted, even when he couldn't understand why he was doing it.

"_Hello?"_

When she picked up, he didn't know what to say. He liked her voice, the sound of her breathing on the other side, but stating that would have made him sound like a stalker.

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry about breaking her. That he meant it when he assured wanted to protect her. Not because he cared or anything, but because when he had begun stalking her, he had been nearly impressed that, by protecting Emily's bloodline, his continued existence had enabled something as good and pure as Bonnie Bennett to exist too.

In a way, Bonnie's existence was the one good thing that ever came out of his pursuit of Katherine.

If he had not fallen in love with that bitch, if Stefan had not pushed him to become a vampire…Emily's brother and children would have never left Mystic Falls alive. It felt strange, knowing that someone so good was born out of something so twisted and corrupted.

So the judgey little girl _owed_ him… he wanted to ask her to come back to Mystic Falls and set him on fire, so he could end his suffering and she could avenge hers.

"_Hello?"_

She sounded just a bit impatient now and it put a bittersweet half-smile on his face for whatever reason.

"_Are you…"_

She trailed off and he felt uneasy at the idiotic, senseless concept that she could guess it was him on the other side.

Damon closed his eyes and terminated the call without a second thought, forcing the usual blankness on his features.


	12. Impurity

**Impurity**

**Author:****skysamuelle****  
****Pairing:**** Bonnie/Damon  
****Fandom: ****The Vampire Diaries**

**Summary: Some taints, no shower can ever wash away.**

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. Prompt:**** Shower**

**Rated:pg14**

_You're crazy. CRAZYCRAZY CRAZY._

The word hammers incessantly inside her head while Bonnie tugs her clothes off in a manic fury, throwing every discarded, suddenly suffocating garment on the bathroom's floor with a careless anger plain to see in every movement of her body.

The water is on and scalding before she's completely naked, and the witch gets under the steaming spray full on, flinching and hissing at the slight pain of the too hot jet hitting her skin.

She turns her face upward to the spray nonetheless, without bothering to switch the duvet. Right now, she needs the heat, the outside burn to erase the inner one.

She violently scrubs her throat until it hurts because that's the throat Damon kissed so thoroughly barely moments ago.

She can still feel it – his unexpectedly hot mouth suckling on every inch of the vulnerable skin there as his hands gripped her waist and kept her body molded to his.

She scrubs at her arms too; the arms that wrapped around his neck and held him close as she returned his kiss.

Horrible as it is to think, she would prefer if she could convince herself that he somehow forced or manipulated her into _it -t_here must be more honor in being a victim than a cheap fuck.

But the truth is that she was upset and lonely and angry that the divide between her and her father was growing more and more since he had demanded that she give up her Craft and she had refused.

And Damon was just there, the way he seemed to always to be whenever her life went to shit.

Per usual, they had argued, all because the stupid vampire could never hold off riling her up whenever they were in each other's proximity, and she couldn't refrain rising to the challenge.

Bonnie remembers walking away from him, toward the Mystic Grill bathroom, and not being particularly surprised or eager to acknowledge him as he followed her. She remembers him gripping her elbow and turning her around, cornering her against the door as his lips slanted against hers.

She wishes she could forget kissing back.

It's nothing she can justify to herself. She kissed her personal devil and enjoyed it.

Despite whom he was and the things he had done, despite his utter disregard for human life.

She _let_ him touch her, creep his hands under her shirt so his caresses could brand her stomach and back, let him kiss her face, and she held his head against her flesh as he kissed her breasts through the lace of her bra.

It had not felt r_ight_; it had felt wrong but unavoidable, like another kind of gravity was pulling her body to his. When he murmured in her ear how much he wanted her, how much he had always wanted _this _and how hot she was, Bonnie had wanted to laugh, because she felt so dirty and so exhilarated at the same time.

_He is in love with Elena_- she had thought suddenly, as his fingers unbuttoned her jeans and that made it so much cheaper and her so much angrier that she could not help herself.

Her rage coiled like a hungry snake and struck out at him, leaving him bent and quivering on the floor as she readjusted her clothes.

"_This __never__ happened._" It was last thing she spat in his general direction before leaving without a second glance.

The fact that she stopped him doesn't make her feel any better. No, she feels dirty still.

She scratches and scrubs at her abraded skin but the taint of his hands and mouth won't leave. She feels him creeping under the surface as the fragmented memories of the pleasure she felt while they touched each other for the first time resurfaces.

Somehow, Damon Salvatore is inside her now, and maybe he has always been.

And the more she tries to shut out the condemning feeling, the more she feels fragmented and impure.

Her eyes water but Bonnie can't even tell whether it's from tears or the scorching hot shower water anymore. She can't even feel her face and damn, it serves her well.

Because even now there's a shame-filled half of her soul that wonders what _he_ must think of her now. Probably that all her hostility and threats were a way to draw his attention.

Or worse yet, that for all her judging, in the end, she was no different than all the sluts he brought back to the Mansion while he plotted his way inside Elena's heart and bed.

And it hurts, so much that Bonnie actually believes for a moment that her heart is going to stop beating.

Damon used to respect her, damn it, and now she has ruined it all for something she can't ever bear naming.

How is he going to take her seriously ever again?

And Bonnie hates _this fucking day_, and _him _and _herself_ for bringing her so low, to be this pathetic half-person who can't even live up to her principles.

"I am completely crazy," she sobs, sliding on the wet tiles until she is sitting down, her head between her hands.

Tomorrow, she will force herself to be stronger than this.


	13. Sinner

**Sinner**

**Author:****skysamuelle****  
****Pairing:**** Bonnie/Damon  
****Fandom: ****The Vampire Diaries**

**Summary: ****Like any sinner, Damon wants what he has no right to demand.** **Written as a companion/Sequel to 'Impurity.' ****Rated: pg13**

Damon Salvatore stares sightlessly at the ceiling of his bedroom, stretched on his bed with his arms crossed.

He's trying to forget how idiotic it was on his part to think he could actually go from kissing Bonnie Bennett for the first time in a dark corner of the Mystic Grill to screwing her inside a public bathroom. Like she was just some slut he had picked up at a stupid bar.

_.Damn._

He knows Bonnie is not that kind of girl, of course: Bonnie Bennett is uptight and judgmental and full of silly rules for nearly everything. Basically the opposite of easy.

But somehow as she was in his arms the one thing his brain could process is that she was letting him kiss her. The realization that _she wanted him too_ had overwhelmed him so much that he had been blind to everything but the pressing need to take all he could from her at that moment.

Kissing her in first place had been pure hazard, he admits. He had not truly thought she would respond to him, just… she was _beautiful_ when she was pissed off at him. There was radiance from tension underlying her features and a nearly primitive glow in her coppery green eyes during their power plays that he just could not avoid reaching for her.

When he had grabbed her, the one idea in his head had been that he was tired of just watching her walk away from him (even if he was always quite partial to the proud sway of her hips as she did- the witch walks like a queen).

When she had kissed him back… he had felt something he still couldn't articulate, in between desire, pride, shock, and greed.

There are many reasons he loves Elena –she connects him to everything that matters in Mystic Falls (Stefan, Bonnie, Liz… all his human connections somehow comes back to Elena – without his pursuit of Elena he would have no one and what would he do with his life if he stopped the chase?). She is the one who could put up with his shit indefinitely, who makes him feel like he is anything but the rotten sinner he is. Elena does many things for him and really, if Elena – his most steadfast defender, the one who always strives to forget his many sins- can't love him, who can?

With Bonnie he is always intensely aware of how beneath her he is.

The witch is untouchable to him, someone too good and decent and bright-burning to be attainable to the likes of him. Like any sinner, Damon wants what he has no right to demand.

_Her scent of arousal, her tiny breathy sounds of passion, the taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin._

Now that he knew them, he could not let them go. His mind was simply stuck there, and on the harsh rage in her voice as she left him behind.

"_This __never__ happened."_

He doesn't truly blame her.

Whereas most people demand from others more than they do from themselves, Bonnie demands so little from her friends and so impossibly much from herself. It's a quality about her he respects deeply.

And he didn't quite show it enough. Not by taking what she had offered to him and then demanding more, more than she could possibly give to a man who did not deserve her.

Is it his fault that he has never learnt to stop pushing for more? Probably. Yet …

Bonnie is everything he is not – the strength, the empathy, the firm grasp on right and wrong- but despite that and despite what she would like to believe, her heart and his speak the same extreme language.

It's both the dissonances and the similarities between them that fill him with hunger when she's close.

_Hunger of having her in his grasping distance, hunger to look at her, hunger to keep her attention on him. _

He can't bring himself to chastise his following of impulses that come so naturally to him.

He is still a sinner, is he not? Unrepentant as ever.

Tomorrow, Damon will find the words to apologize.

He will make sure the witch finds him on her porch when she leaves for school, and he'll ambush her only to tell her he's sorry for overstepping his boundaries.

He will be earnest because this always shocks his little bird so much and then… well, Bonnie's likely to go in denial mode, all the same.

But his 'heartfelt gesture' will restore the natural order of things, and that's all that matters. At least until the next time.


	14. The Importance Of Being Wicked

**The Importance of Being Wicked **

**Author: skysamuelle  
Pairing: Bonnie/Damon  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries**

**Words: 888**

**Rated: pg13**

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. Prompt:** Bonnie's life is a mess. Vampires and other mythical creatures are taking over Mystic Falls, she's out of touch with her best friends, and her father has fallen ill. Will all the pressure on her, Bonnie decides there is only way out by *_(author's choice)_*, but there is one person that's willing to save the little witch from drowning.

* * *

"It's fine," she says, green eyes glassy under the dim lighting of a cheap bar. "I'm going to let you do it for real. No tricks, no games."

He studies her with a manic glint in his cerulean gaze, licking his lips as his attention sweeps and burns over every inch of her figure, his body tensing in anticipation despite of his distrust. If this is some kind of test, then he is going to fail because the occasion is just too inviting and he was never too good at resisting temptations. He can barely resist his whims as it is, and the witch is not a whim – she is more like one of those dreams you can barely remember in your wake, but still reach for day in and day out.

Bonnie inclines her head slowly, pushing her dark locks behind her earlobe, and he can see her pulse point bared, the beautiful smooth cocoa skin waiting for his bite.

And although he wants this so much that he can feel his fangs aching to grow out, he hesitates.

"Damon…" she calls him, an impatient warning, and he smiles despite himself because it's her temper that always made her so endearing to him.

"Why?" the vampire asks, amused and curious and almost worried. Here is the resident thorn in his side, his judgy, petite Charmed One, asking him if he wants to bite her.

He has not seen much of her lately. Not since Caroline and her Lockwood pet began their version of 'being independent and evil,' and sweet Elena grew increasingly conflicted over which Salvatore brother she prefers.

He heard from Jeremy that her father was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and she has been maniacally searching for some magic trick that doesn't involve dark magic to heal him, without success.

So he supposes even Bonnie Bennett is entitled to lose it at some point, and that classy black number she is wearing tonight, knee-length but baring one shoulder so teasingly, does nothing to diminish his bloodlust.

She is beautiful in an effortless, unknowingly sensual way that he has always wanted to taste. And this is his chance.

"Why what?"

He shrugs, leaning closer to her, so his breath can caress her face, surprised when she straightens but does not back away.

"What are you doing here, Bonnie?"

This cheap local is the perfect hunting territory for vampires, and well-known for it.

She smiles a bit back at him, her eyes unfalteringly focused on his but at the same time distant, like she is miles away. "I need to take the edge off. I came looking for a vampire… any vampire really. I feel like being seduced and bitten tonight… I wanted to try a new spell. See if I can make a heart explode inside a chest even while I'm being sipped at."

Damon's smirk is dark and bitter as his thumb runs along the contours of her arm, memorizing the exact texture of her skin.

"I've always thought you would become a vampire serial killer when you grew up."

Bonnie laughs a hollow sound that somehow makes the vampire want to wrap her in his jacket and keep the world away from her.

"I'm tired of being hunted or manipulated for my powers. I want to do the hunting for a change."

This is a reasoning he can understand, and normally he would reply with something snarky about their being kindred or the dark side being the fun side but… he has a hard time concentrating on proper words, when his thumb is tracing the soft, warm curve of her neck.

He is not all so certain of who is seducing whom for once and he _likes_ it. He likes it a lot.

Forget that he's never been so close to winning Elena over – this very private moment with Bonnie is not something he is ready or willing to let pass.

"You think you can take me out, huh?"

"If you're good, I won't even try. I would hate to upset Stefan."

Her coy tone has an underlying poisonous note, subtly insinuating that his brother would not be all that sorry to see him go nowadays. Surprisingly, her casual bitchiness is making him hard and not only because it's a side of her that the witch reserves for him solely.

Damon does not think she would attempt that spell on him, but he can't say for certain, and this arouses him the way it did when he was human and wondered whether Katherine would slip and drain him clean someday.

He wants to see how nasty his little witch can get, unwrap her layers and explore the very source of her meanness.

"Why?" he asks again, only more suggestively, cupping the back of her head gently and curving his other hand possessively around her hip. There's a certain thrill in being able to touch her so freely, when in past she shrugged off his touch like he was vermin.

"To prove that nothing matters," she whispers on his chin, conspiratorial and unknowingly seductive at once.

Damon shivers and kisses her softly on her closing lips, sloppily teasing them open again.

_I'll make this matter if it's last thing I ever do_- he promises to himself, grinning inwardly.


	15. Bless The Broken Road

**GOD BLESSED THE BROKEN ROAD**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: G**

**Summary: **_"What are you thinking?" "__I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you," he mutters gruffly to her._

**Words: **1309

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt:**  
_"I set out on a narrow way many years ago  
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road  
But I got lost a time or two  
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through  
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you_

Every long lost dream led me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true  
That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you" From God Blessed The Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

* * *

It's a quiet evening in Marken when Damon's mind inadvertently falls on a rather sentimental, melancholic pattern.

Marken is a relatively small village in the Netherlands, not too distant from Amsterdam but all green fields, green painted wooden houses with white roofs, picket fences, and sheep and ducks traipsing about few meters from human habitations. It's peaceful, kids riding on bikes and serene silence spreading throughout the neighborhood, occasionally broken by some tourist groups' idle chatter and mothers caring for their perfect gardens, all different from each other, or putting their laundry on cords to dry out.

It's the kind of place he would have never seen himself spending a weekend let alone three months, but after Bonnie fell in love with the place he had gotten it in his head to keep her here as long as he could. Just because her green eyes had widened and lit up like she was a child in a candy store when he had brought her here for a short excursion.

And looking at the witch now, wrapped in her form-hugging red coat as she leans forward to feed the ducks in the river, a glowing, utterly girly smile on her full lips, Damon discovers he doesn't actually mind the wet, windy weather he loathed so much the first time he visited Holland decades ago. He's not even annoyed at the villagers' overtly friendly attitude and the countryside scenery. He does not even want to rip his hair out for the lack of city entertainments.

The quietness is okay because nothing interferes with their _alone time_ – in three months, there's been no supernatural threat to their lives, no childhood friends distracting her from him, no duties or responsibilities or past issues coming between them.

This is how he comes to fully explore the differences between todays and yesterdays – he remembers that, for a very long time, his relationship with Bonnie was characterized by ill-foreboding distance.

In those times he saw her as a contender that he could respect, and she hated his kind so angrily, despising him for all he was worth. He had sensed the gap between them like it was a physical force no forceful grasping or hissing in her face could trespass.

He had loved Katherine for being the cruel Mistress who created a distance between him and his human failures, and he had loved Elena for filling the gap between him and Stefan, the emptiness he had created by himself. But Bonnie, he had loved just for the beautifully sane person she was.

The beautifully sane person she still is, despite her being in love with him, and for someone like him, whose control and grip on sanity slip erratically, that's a blessing. She is his calm in the storm, and he adores her for it.

So much that he can vacation in a place like Marken not only without going ballistic, but even being pathetically content in it, just because for once he has all he needs in his grasp.

And he must shake his head at the puzzling strangeness of this, because he has no idea how he has missed it: she is the most beautiful damn thing he has ever seen, and she is _his_. The distance he used to feel between them is no longer there, and they have grown so intimately connected to each other that the idea of having cherished another woman before her feels just as alien as the idea of wanting somebody else after having her.

As if she could perceive the troubling broodyness of his thoughts, Bonnie turns toward him, eyeing his frown and mostly blank expression with a hint of suspicion.

'_Damon Salvatore + Heavy Thinking = Red Alert' _is what he can read clearly enough on the crease between her eyebrows, and it makes him smirk a bit sinisterly at her, just for the thrill of it.

"I'm _remembering_. Being here with you is like taking a walk backwards, to another century."

He tucks her dark hair behind her ear, smirk widening as her body shudders slightly against his, leaning instinctively into the touch.

Here, in this measly fishing village halfway between modern era and ancient times, he can nearly pretend he had not spent ages trying to prove God-knows-what-anymore to either Katherine or Elena (or maybe, he believes _sometimes_, to himself). He can imagine that there was no time and no pain wasted on women that never could have him made as happy as he is today with his little witch.

If only he could have just let go of Katherine instead of dragging his heels and transferring all that load of unresolved longing and despair on Elena, he and Stefan might, maybe, have found some way to rebuild a minimal degree of trust. If only he could have seen before that Bonnie was the right one.

They might have the rest of their lives to spend together now, but it hardly seems enough. The years he threw away, ignoring those instincts that pushed him toward the witch, they will never have back.

"I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you" he mutters gruffly to her, and for a moment he wonders how he can possibly explain the feeling inside him.

He can't avoid thinking that all they needed, at any given moment of their shared past, was a small extra push and they would have fallen into each other and for each other easily.

It almost angers him that what he enjoys now has been kept from him for so long, and he can't articulate his thoughts without sounding resentful but a glance at Bonnie's softening features suffices to prove that he doesn't need to explain anything. He can tell she feels the same way he does, that the same concept must have occurred to her at some point.

"I've thought of that too sometimes," she adds, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It's a damn shame," Damon growls, surrounding her waist with an arm to draw her petite frame closer. "We could have had _years_ of this."

Bonnie kisses his chin affectionately, nuzzling his throat to soften the blow her words might cause.

"We would have made a mess if we had gotten together before. We were coming from such different places in the beginning, and I'm not sure Love is always enough to force everything to flow the way you want. Even if we could have loved each other early on and have found a way to make it work… it probably would have been way more painful. I mean, happiness takes hard work too and right then it was hard enough to be who we were."

Damon would be tempted to take offense at her contemplations if he didn't remember well enough that once upon a time his ways of dealing with rejection had included snapping Jeremy's neck. Not to mention how his nurturing of a relationship with Stefan had consisted of emotional torture and killing anyone his brother got close to for DECADES.

He is suddenly glad that he had the sense to never give himself the chance to hurt Bonnie like that. He has taken enough from her as it is.

He kisses her brow, his fingers threading through her soft curls, and he is just grateful that he has found her at last.

Because after all, if he had not obsessed over Katherine Pierce, he would have never protected the Bennett line, and perhaps Bonnie would never have been born, and if he had not chased after Elena Gilbert, he would have never gotten to truly know her best friend. So maybe there was meaning somewhere and he had been exactly where he was supposed to be all along: on the bumpy road that brought him straight and safe to Bonnie's heart.


	16. dirty ramblings of a dangerous mind

**Dirty Ramblings of a dangerous mind**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: pg13**

**Summary: ****"**Do yourself a favor, Damon — don't ask me about Caroline." He had never thought that his name could sound so sexy until then.

**Words: **399

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt**: He/she (depending on who's perspective you take) never thought his/her name could sound so sexy.

"Do yourself a favor, Damon — don't ask me about Caroline." 

He had never thought that his name could sound so sexy until then. And that is saying a lot since Damon Salvatore has heard his name screamed, whispered, cursed and whimpered in all sorts of deliciously devious situations… and positions.

Yet as he looks at Bonnie Bennett standing so proud and threatening, completely unaware of all the ways he might kill her before she even realizes it's happening, in that lovely costume that fits her so well, hugging her bosom and waist so enticingly… fake blonde hair tossed over her shoulder and contrasting with the dark chocolate of her skin… well, he feels a jolt of lust run through his body.

He might swear that her commanding, angry tone has just made his toes to curl.

The girl is petite and tight, no denying that. He _has _checked her out too during cheerleader practice, in between drinking in the sight of Katherine-lite. Somehow Bonnie looks much more attractive with that full mouth tightened in a hostile pout and her large green-brown eyes keeping her glare fiercely trained on him.

The way she tries to look imposing to him should be laughable, but he strangely finds her fierce self-righteous fury over the lowly likes of_ Caroline Forbes_ quite … inspiring. In a very dirty way that makes him nearly giddy to be so close to this saintly presence.

" Oh Bonnie, so loyal," he says, like he could not believe that sweet, vapid Caroline could evoke this degree of protectiveness from anyone. Which is the honest truth for once: every time that blonde opens her mouth to talk, he can only think of ways to quickly shut her up.

He tried to wrap his lips around her name just as seductively as she did his . Not a hard task really, but his charm seems to go wasted on Caroline's steadfast defender, because her glare doesn't soften in the least.

" Just stay away from her," little Bonnie _insists, _her voice hard and Damon must push all random contemplations on the sensual curve of her neck to the back of his consciousness. This is not the time for casual sinful fantasies on the next door girl. He has a necklace to rescue -for _his_ Katherine.

He can be a self-respecting predator but he has priorities too.


	17. Nothing Golden Can Stay

**Nothing Golden Can Stay**

_Author: skysamuelle_  
_Pairing: Bonnie/Damon_  
_Fandom: The Vampire Diaries_

_Rated: pg13_

_Summary: He won't ever admit it, but sometimes he dreams of her._

_A/N: Title cites a famous Robert Frost poem. Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. Prompt: Cold Shower._

* * *

He won't ever admit it, but sometimes he dreams of _her._

Not of Elena, so familiar and yet so distant, so comforting and yet a source of bittersweet longing.

Not of Katherine, a taint so deep he sometimes thinks he will never be completely free of it, the beautiful poison that has fed all that was wrong in him, his first love and his deepest hatred, his maker in every sense he can possibly give to this word.

They are occasional guests of his dream world too, of course, but the dreams of her are always different from anything else somehow: they are eerie and full of soft noises and poignant scents, of shadows that hide her away for the longest before she is given back to him.

In his dreams the witch is surrounded by spring blossoms or summer fruits, but nothing registers in his brain except the touch of her hands, the green hue of her eyes as she rides him hard, dark hair wild on her shoulders, her beautiful breasts bouncing with the gyrating movement of her hips. Above him, Bonnie is proud and effortlessly sensual, all welcoming smiles and murmured promises of an upcoming, magnificent release.

Her touch cleanses him, brands him, reminds him that he belongs somewhere, to somebody. To her only. When he is inside her the worlds melt in a sweet slow-burning pyre, and he is burning inside too, but he is not afraid because he feels then that he is not alone.

And when Damon awakens among sweat-dampened sheets, dick hard and throbbing and aching with _want_, he has no words, just a feeling of loss mingled with impatience and solitude.

Sometimes he finishes himself off with stiff, angry strokes, reaching blindly for quick and painful orgasm, eyes clenched shut and jaw rigid as he summons the clearest image of a judgmental, jaded girl with thick lashed eyes and full lips. Those are the times he will feel dirty as soon he has reached the goal, the physical release disappointingly shallow in comparison to the fading memory of the all-consuming pleasure that spread through his veins during the sleep.

The other times - most of the times, really- Damon will just get up with a groan and stalk off to take a long, cold shower that only his immortal body might tolerate, until the mirage behind his eyelids is erased and there's nothing, nothing to question.


	18. Contention

**Contention**

Author: skysamuelle  
Pairing: Bonnie/Damon  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Rated:M

Words:2007

Summary: Damon did something that made Bonnie extremely mad at him. It's the aftermath of their first fight after becoming a couple, so he does something to reassure himself that she still wants to be with him… but since Damon is still Damon, he does it in his usual assholish way.

AN: Written for Bamon Drabble Party.

* * *

"A woman is dead, Damon and it's _your _fault. You can't brush it off as if you just …emptied a bottle of wine on the carpet by accident. "

It's been a very long time since Damon has seen that gaze on his girlfriend's coppery green eyes. She is not wearing the kind of mild, trivial anger that makes her visage glow and their little spats fuel for sexual tension. The anger that spills in her voice and lights up her eyes is cold, harsh and laced with disgust.

Her arms are crossed before her chest and she has the most judgmental expression on and Damon could swear that, for the first time, he hates this witch as much he loves her.

Because nobody ever manages to make him feel as filthy as Bonnie Bennett does with a single silent glance, not even Saint Stefan with his endless lectures on right and wrong and history repeating itself all over again.

It makes him angry that she is still able to glare at him like that, as if she has not felt and enjoyed his hands all over her petite body, as if she has not entrusted him with her life more than once.

He wants to grab her and force her to remember that she is his now. His lover, his friend, his love. She doesn't have a right to glare through him like he is only dirt on her shoes.

He huffs, shaking his head with a sarcastic sneer on his dry lips."I'm getting tired of repeating this, sweetheart: I barely _sipped _on her. Just like I did on countless others without any accidents. Her death was not in my plans. It was just… a fluke of luck."

"A fluke of luck?" she spits, even more enraged, spreading her arms wide. "Do you even understand what you've done?"

"I get it's not my _responsibility_."

Even while he says it, he knows it's not completely the truth. This death is a direct consequence of his actions, and if he had chosen any other woman in that bar to compel and feed on, there would be one less corpse in the town obituary and one less grieving family. It is not what he wanted, it's not what he planned for, but he didn't exactly take desperate measures to avoid it either. He could have struck two blood bags. He could have asked his 'victim' if she suffered from any blood-related ailment. But he had not, because it wasn't what he was used to in 160 years of utter loathing of the humankind and remorseless hunting.

And he can't admit this to Bonnie. Even if it probably would not worsen her current opinion of him. He does not know why, or better yet, he doesn't want to know.

He _can't_ be weak with her, some deep part of him just refuses to, and he doesn't need to articulate his reasons in order to follow his instincts at best he can.

"It is!" Bonnie reiterates, voice rising in evident frustration. "_You_ bither and now she is _gone_. Just because you couldn't give up the fucking thrill of feeding on living flesh."

He has spent hours trying to explain why fresh blood tastes so much better, why he could not just put it off his diet completely. He won't rise to the bait of trying again. He's tired of this screaming match, and he can see she feels the same, but is too damn stubborn to let it go.

"I could not have known she was anemic, Bonnie," he repeats slowly, and it's nothing he has not told her before and nothing that will sway her, but it is all he has and he won't pretend otherwise.

The witch steps closer, pressing her lips in a thigh line, and suddenly her features reflect none of the anger and all of the sadness, the disappointment. It's worse for Damon: they feel like a slap in the face.

"Does it even _matter_ to you?"

Something in him wants to grasp her shoulders, beg for forgiveness and promise that it won't happen ever again. It is silenced pretty fast by the something that won't allow her to hope for too much, to demand too much from him.

His visage remains stony, unmoved, but his mouth twitches in doubt, tripping over imaginary words.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, and I can't _undo_ it," he answers roughly, and yet his eyes stare deeper into hers, inviting her to read more than impatience in the shortening of his temper, to understand what he can't voice directly. He _is _ashamed, despite himself and his experiences past and present.

"You can't," Bonnie acknowledges, looking nearly defeated, and he is surprised that it gives him no satisfaction.

The witch is giving up, and he hates it, hates knowing that she is taking his apparent lack of empathy as a personal failure. Her personal failure to make him see the weight of his carelessness with human lives.

If she was anyone else, he would laugh at her, throwing around sarcastic quips to prove that he is not blind to his flaws.

But with Bonnie he can only stand still and wait it out, take her judgment and swallow it down bitterly as he has always done in the past.

Silence stretches between them, and it's awkward and tense. She is looking at anywhere but where he is standing.

"It's late," she says, uneasy, after a furtive glance to the clock. "I should go."

The idea of her leaving now sparks a feeling of unwilling, begrudging anxiety inside the vampire. "It's 2.00 AM. You should sleep over here."

She has surely done so often enough in more pleasant circumstances, and although this relationship thing they have been trying is very recent, Damon feels that at night her place should always be in his bed for better or worse. It's stupid, but he has this sudden fear that if she leaves now, like this, she won't return to him.

"I don't think it's a very good idea," she hesitates, and it's so painfully evident that she wants to leave, get out of this house and far away from him that his hand is around her wrist, squeezing lightly, before either of them can blink.

"Stay," he insists, and he can at least be relieved that his tone is perfectly neutral.

"I'm tired of fighting," Bonnie warns, and it sounds more like an excuse than anything else.

"So don't."

She looks at him for a long, unreadable moment before nodding a sighed, "Okay."

Later, as they are lying down side by side among his sheets and she is wearing only panties and one of his button-up shirts, the witch feels as distant from him as if she was miles away. It irks him, it offends him; and worse yet it _hurts _him and there's nothing he can do to talk himself out of those feelings.

He wonders what he is in her eyes now, a monster or a man, if she is wondering how long it will be before he does something that will force her to put him down definitively.

Mostly, he wonders if the next time he kisses her he will taste her loathing.

Almost in a gesture of rebellion, his arm encircles her waist, pulling her to his chest. She allows him, but stays unmoving and quiet.

Testing her further, Damon presses his nose to her neck, breathing her in. It's when she flinches that he feels a sinking weight in his gut in response, anger and grief warring with each other.

"Can you promise," she questions softly, "that it'll only be blood bags from today on?"

It would just take a yes to put her fears to rest, he supposes, but Damon still hesitates, a bitter aftertaste lingering in his mouth. He kisses her nape just to prove – both to him and to her- that he still can, taking his time before answering.

"Unless it's otherwise necessary," he concedes, and is pissed off that it gets him no reaction from his _girlfriend._

Fingers crawl over her thigh, slowly tracing its curves and ridges in retaliation, gently rubbing the soft and warm skin until his hand drifts in the space between her legs. Bonnie stays passive as he forces his way down a little, cupping her sex roughly. She gasps a little, a tiny, breathy surprised sound that makes him harden against her hip and nip at her shoulder.

He grounds the heel of his palm against her clit as he pushes her panties aside, somewhat gently despite his mood and ambivalent feelings toward her attitude.

"Damon…" she trails off in a bit too stern warning, and he hides his face in her hair, on the side of her neck, just so she will feel his smirk against her beautiful skin.

"What?" he provokes her, sounding as innocent as he has never truly been.

His hold around her waist tightens as he sinks two fingers inside her heat, slowly, groaning in satisfaction against her skin.

"You are an asshole," Bonnie gasps again, as he starts working her at a teasing pace. Soon she is slippery and wet, shuddering around his digits while he strokes the magical spot that never fails to make her eyes water in pleasure.

"Deep down, you like me this way," he purrs in her ear, nudging her legs further apart and growling in approval as she spreads herself even wider all by her whim. Feeling suddenly generous, he adds a third finger and pushes deeper and deeper until her breathing breaks in little labored huffs.

Damon arranges the pliant body against his so he can nestle his increasingly painful erection under the swell of her ass, enjoying the way her hips move to meet his hand because every movement of hers rubs her buttocks on his cock. It must be one of the most erotically-charged times of his long, debauched life, and the vampire finds himself closing his eyes to savor it. He loses himself for a bit in between the wanton sounds of her heavy panting and her racing heartbeat, the addictive friction created between her soft flesh and his dick. Damon kisses her cheek affectionately when she comes, her thighs clenching his hand and her lips moaning his name.

Eagerly, he rolls her over and watches her expression change as he abruptly pulls his fingers out of her pussy and puts them inside his mouth, licking them clean as her pupils widen and her body stiffens.

Despite how much he craves to be inside her, so deep that the little witch will never able to entirely cleanse herself of him, he takes his time to commit this image of her to memory.

Because Bonnie is always so beautiful in her afterglow that it makes him proud of giving her that release, and he can smell her arousal in the air, see it in every line of her open, fragile body.

He wants to bask in this, in her, and it's not a false sense of victory spurning him on but love. A primitive and greedy and selfish brand of it, but still love.

His eyes darken from blue to black while he leans over, freeing his aching erection from his boxers and sliding up Bonnie's frame without bothering to rid her of his shirt: he finds the thought of his clothing covering her upper body like a second skin as he fucks her both erotic and comforting. When he thrusts inside Bonnie's sweet warmth, she is smiling up at him. It's a tender smile that lasts only a few seconds before it is broken by a moan, but it unsettles him and brands itself in his mind. Later, he will able to see it even from behind closed eyelids, and he will realize that he has never felt so beloved.


	19. the endgame

**The Endgame**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon, with random slices of DE, SE and KS**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: G**

**Summary: **Bizarrely, Bonnie does not understand why she no longer dislikes Damon all that much until he gets with Elena.

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt:** "Teardrops on My Guitar" by Taylor Swift

* * *

Bizarrely, Bonnie does not understand why she no longer dislikes Damon all that much until he does get Elena. Even then, the witch manages to convince herself that the sickly feeling of inherent wrongness she gets when she sees her best friend and her worst enemy together is all because of Stefan. Somehow Katherine has managed to truly convince Elena that she and Stefan are an unfinished and never ending affair, and the younger Salvatore is now more unstable than ever.

Bonnie tries her best to fix the situation because mending the broken was always her vocation wherever Damon Salvatore _wasn't_ concerned. She insists on becoming Stefan's confidante even if the vampire fights her every step of the way: she admires his struggle against his nature too much to let Katherine Pierce destroy him.

She insists on remaining Elena's friend even when it starts to feel like Damon is turning her surrogate sister into someone she barely knows. Even when she feels disappointed and nearly disgusted that Elena can label as boyfriend a monster who tried to kill both her best friends, snapped her little brother's neck and fucked and turned into a freaking vampire her biological mother. Bonnie has shudders every time she contemplates all of it, and she tries hard to not question how Elena can just go ahead feeling only feebly conflicted. Denial doesn't work all that well when she can read the same questions reflected into Stefan's gaze.

"I expected better from both of them," he confesses once, voice dark and knuckles tight.

"I know," she answers simply, trying to convey the exact depth of her understanding through her gaze as she puts her hand on his shoulder in comfort. This is how Bonnie realizes that, however impossible it is to comprehend, she actually expected better than this from both Elena _and_ Damon. Family is supposed to matter more than girl troubles and she had gotten used to Damon and Stefan's mutually derisive bickering in the background of her life.

Bonnie does not understand how Elena could have cared for both brothers so much and yet destroyed so imprudently all the recent rebuilding of their shaky relationship, switching to Damon after giving up on Stefan.

She is not surprised when Stefan says he has decided to leave – she felt him retreating from every connection he had to the town day by day ever so subtly, and she only feels guilt that she wasn't enough to help him. As she hugs him goodbye she feels more alone and panicked than she ever thought possible.

When Elena discovers Stefan is gone, the brunette breaks and cries into Bonnie's arms for three hours, suffocating her sobs like her pain is some guilty secret. They don't talk about it afterwards. For the first time, Bonnie feels that the harder she tries to hold things together, the harder things fall apart.

Katherine disappears from their radar shortly after but Bonnie's anguish doesn't leave with Elena's doppelganger.

Damon and Elena's relationship becomes this huge angst-fest where Damon passive-aggressively encourages Elena to be more Katherine-like, despite his claim of loving her because she is nothing like his sire, while Elena keeps grooming him to respond to life in a more 'Stefan-like' way, although she claims being over her former boyfriend.

Bonnie is pulled in the middle, and in this uncomfortable position she finds herself spending more time with Damon than she has ever wanted to. Surprisingly, on the surface their relationship changes very little: she still fiercely disapproves of him and he still fiercely enjoys provoking her. Yet something must be different too, because sometimes she can't breathe when he walks by and touches her, always grasping and grabbing at her arms, shoulders, waist–his hands gentle but firm-when there's no apparent need for it. She is sort of learning to envy how comfortable he is in his skin, even when he is wrong, and how easily he can invent his set of rules to live by, when she is always questioning and reforming her precious ethics.

She certainly envies how fearless he has always been in fighting for his love, no matter how desperate the quest, when she can't even admit to herself that she is in love without suffering a massive panic attack.

She ignores her misgivings, her dreams of Stefan coming back to Elena's door with haunted eyes and Elena wrapping her arms eagerly around him with happy tears on her cheeks. Bonnie wants to believe that Damon will find his measure of peace with her best friend, because if it doesn't happen then she will lose him to the darkness he still struggles to contain.

* * *

The charade ends as she starts packing for college visits. Bonnie and Caroline excitedly started to plan in detail a road trip to tour their favorite destinations. Damon had been avoiding her most determinedly as soon she had started to draft projects of leaving Mystic Falls, and it was a sad kind of relief.

A raven flies in through her bedroom window one night after dinner and the witch raises her eyebrows in annoyance at the handsome man sitting on her bed. It doesn't matter that her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him so comfortable in her room – he is not hers and he won't ever be and she made her peace with that. It will stop hurting soon or so she is trying to convince herself.

There are clothes and a travel bag spread on her bed beside and behind where Damon's sitting – proof that she is packing and looking forward to the next phase of her life.

"So you're really going," he reprimands her patronizingly, almost like he's taking offense at her determination to cultivate plans of which he silently disapproved.

"Obviously," she answers, determined to not allow the vampire to rile her up.

"I thought you and Elena were going to be attached at the hip as long as you were alive."

Bonnie shrugs, hiding a pang of senseless disappointment behind her poker face. "It's time to cut the umbilical cord."

"You need each other."

"Like you and Stefan did?"

She instantly cringes and shakes her head nervously, cursing her stupid tongue for snapping _that._ It's too much exposure, and she wants to keep believing Damon is blind to her less hostile feelings.

The vampire, unexpectedly, shakes his head lightly and bypasses her slip completely. "You can't leave," he repeats simply, glaring like he could just cow her into submission or like he is trying to look astonished at her sheer foolishness of wanting a life far away from this cursed place.

"I can't wait to leave this hell-hole," she glares right back boldly, crossing her arms defensively before her chest because she feels that strange, confusing vibe between them again, and she should know better than to expect itmeans anything at all.

Damon is not hers and the sooner she accepts it, the sooner she will be free.

But he is in her face within a breath's space, grasping her forearms and forcing a harsh, punishing kiss on her lips. Bonnie is so shocked that for a moment she goes completely still, allowing his mouth to caress hers shamelessly. There's an instant of pure elation when his tongue tries to slide in to deepen the kiss, but then she remembers why this is so wrong and impossible and should never happen again. She telekinetically throws him across the room and against the wall, hard.

The idiot just laughs as she wipes her lips. "Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell it was that?"

"A kiss," he smirks cockily, his body language far too reminiscent of their first face to face at a certain Halloween fair years ago, "and you enjoyed it."

"You are delusional, and so is Elena if she thinks you can keep it in your pants long enough to have a serious relationship with her."

If the witch had hoped that her best friend's mention would have distracted him from the point he was set on making, then it was clear from the unfaltering bravado all over his visage that her plan had failed.

"Jealous, love?"

_Love,_ he calls her and it's for the mockery of that word that she thinks she will never forgive him. She might hate him more than she ever has before, because it's cruel and unfair and nothing she deserves after all she has forgiven him for.

"Run to your girlfriend, asshole and explain to her what you've just done before I do," she hisses even if '_I'm not your love, I'm not your anything'_ dances childishly on her tongue. How pathetic is it that bringing up Elena is still the one way she has to hurt him back?

"Tell her yourself," his widening grin is predatory, shark-like, and the manic glint in his gaze? It's not Reformed-Damon at all. "And don't forget to add how long we had it coming and how good it was."

At that point Bonnie completely loses it.

"You're a raving lunatic!" she screams, waving her arms furiously, ever so tempted to end his miserable life. "What the fuck you want from me?"

Damon suddenly becomes dead serious at that, like the question was what he was waiting for all along, and he was just playing on her nerves to get there. Which confirms, inevitably, that he might be the most delirious psychotic case she has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

"I want you to find Stefan for me with your witchy juju before you go anywhere. I want you to boss him into coming back and taking back what belongs to him, because Elena and I are bored stiff with each other already. Tell him that she needs him and I don't need her _nearly_ as much as I thought."

Frighteningly enough Damon looks like he means what he says, and the expectant expression he with which he addresses her does not falter. It doesn't matter how hard Bonnie stares him down, her visage carefully and intentionally blank as she wills herself to see through his bold facade.

"I'm not _enabling_ you in whatever mind game you're setting up for your brother and girlfriend," the witch hisses, pushing her anger and humiliation so deep that she can't feel them choking her anymore. "Find another way to fix your relationship issues."

It has to be a game, she is sure. A final manipulation to convince Elena that she has made the right choice by choosing the older, nastier brother and to smack that victory in Stefan's face.

And it sickens her, really, that she can love someone who destroys others so effortlessly just to make himself feel better or just to have what he wants how he wants it.

Bonnie is still convinced that there has to be something wrong with her if she can have such visceral feelings for such a sadistic madman. This is what scares her most about her attraction to Damon: not the unrequited nature of her feelings, but what it says about _her_ nature. Thus, her fear should soften the rejection's blow but it doesn't. It hurts, and she may choose to not analyze that hurt and its source, but she can't stop experiencing it.

Damon regales her with one of those twitchy, blatantly insane looks he sometimes uses. "I know that your head explodes when you try to take me at face value, but I'm not playing you, them or even myself. I'm fixing the mess I made before we all go insane. Judge _that_ if you can, Miss Self-Righteous-And-Perfect."

And then he is looking at her again like he did that day at the Founder's Day Parade, blue eyes serious and features earnest instead of maniacal. It makes the witch want to scream _and_ melt, run away _and_ get closer. It makes her confused and scared, and she needs to take a deep breath in, strive to even out her heartbeat, all too aware than he can notice its sudden, frantic increase.

"And you thought I would cave in more easily if you kissed me and upset Elena?"

She tries to sound sarcastic, uncaring and she laughs it off condescendingly so he won't see the cracks on her stupid, misguided heart.

"I kissed you because I _wanted_ to, and because you wanted me to do that whether you know it or not. We got a lot of sexual frustration to unleash on each other, Bennett."

"I bet that's what all the abusers say." Bonnie's answer is rushed and breezy, a chilly smile forced on her lips. "I will grant your wish anyway, for _Stefan_."

In the end, Bonnie postpones her trip by a few days, and she manages to both localize Stefan and do some dream-walking pep-talk for his benefit. It takes 3 efforts before she convinces him that his place is in Mystic Falls, and when he eventually nods and assures her that he is going to come home, she knows it's not a lie.

That certainty puts something inside to rest as she starts packing again: Elena will be okay and well-taken care of, and Bonnie can finally move forward with her life without any guilt.

The morning as she waits for Caroline to pick her up, her jaw drops when she spots Damon's shiny, black mustang in her backyard.

"He blackmailed me into letting him tag along," Caroline admits with an annoyed pout, and Bonnie could argue, threaten, or cause bodily harm. Instead she slates a wary glance to Damon's naughty-boy-mask and makes herself comfortable inside the damned car.

Damon Salvatore is not hers, but maybe he wants to be, and maybe she needs to give him a chance to demonstrate it. For closure's sake if anything else.


	20. Absolution

**Absolution**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: PG 13**

**Summary: **This kiss is different from their first and any other kiss she has ever received.

**A/N: **Thispiece closes the trilogy begun with **Impurity **and **Sinner**. It's a sequel to those oneshots, but it can be read as a standalone.

* * *

Bonnie doesn't exactly understand how or when the situation gets out control until it's too late to step back.

A spell takes far too much from her, as happens far too often in her hometown since she owned up to being a witch, and she opens her eyes sluggishly to finds herself lying down in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed.

Damon's bed, she understands as soon as she turns her head and finds him beside her, sitting on a chair staring at her unblinkingly, his chin between his clasped hands and with a pensive expression that makes his visage somehow alien.

He does not say anything, and she is too spent to move but tries anyway, instinctively wanting to get away.

Damon puts a firm hand on her chest, holding her down. "Rest," he has the gall to command. "I swore to the Scooby Gang I would guard your sorry ass until they came back."

Bonnie wants to ask where everyone else is, what they are doing, how long she has been out of it. She is annoyed that she can't clear her mind enough to formulate any of her questions: her mouth just hangs open and quivering, numb and voiceless, until Damon starts filling the silence with his usual endless string of words. He compares her to Emily, to Emily's daughter Nellie, to Grams' cousin Joyce.

She listens avidly with such a hunger for any scrap of information he possesses that she knows it must be reflected in her eyes. When he is done, the smirk on his lips is anticipating, self-satisfied and smug, but it doesn't stop her from demanding as gently as she can, "Tell me more about them."

And he does: Damon spills secrets on the Bennetts he has watched over, spinning every tale so colorfully that she almost feels like she has personally known a few of her ancestors.

At some point in his long confessional he stretches down at her side and she just scoots over, silencing the little voice that reminds to her that she is making a mistake.

When there's a pause and his hand moves to cradle her cheek, to tread through her hair ever so slowly, she knows she should flinch away, if only to show him that she has learnt from her past missteps. If she leans into his touch and stares into the metallic blue of his eyes, it's because his stories have lulled her into a false sense of safety and peacefulness. She has not felt this good in awhile, and she just wants to let it last.

"Thank you for letting me know them," she murmurs when his gaze feels too heavy on her features and the moment too fragile.

There's no smartass comment coming back to her, just his thumb stroking lazily her chin and his mouth covering hers.

This kiss is different from their first and any other kiss she has ever received. He kisses her with a tenderness she never considered him capable of and she accepts him with gratitude free of any resentment.

She had sworn to herself that she had forgotten all about that fevered, guilty make out session they had shared almost a year ago, but the desire rushes back from the very depth of her like they are merely finishing a dance they started a long time ago.

When the kiss ends she is breathless and her heart is racing as his lips travel downward, from her jaw to her throat to her collarbone, refusing to leave her skin for more than one second.

He glances up at her, expectant as he unbuttons her shirt, and she guesses he is asking for some kind of permission, and this is when she remembers the shame she felt the last time this happened.

She doesn't ever want to feel that way again.

Yet something feels different, the mysterious undercurrent of feeling between them painting the scene not cheap but precious.

She has not been touched by anyone in so long, and it occurs to her that she needs this contact, even if it was nothing but a flimsy pretence of intimacy.

Bonnie nods imperceptibly, tension easing off her spine when Damon's cool hands start moving again, undressing her more quickly than she might have imagined.

The sex is quick, satisfying, and gentle with a rough edge. She takes an odd pleasure from knowing that they might be discovered at any time, and she almost hopes for it, vaguely imagining Elena's displeased pout and Stefan's worried frown.

The violent orgasm empties her of everything, leaving her broken and helplessly confused in Damon's arms. He comes inside her with loud growl that echoes in her ears and sends a wave of panic through her sweaty body. Suddenly she is scared and angry, desperate to not hear anything he might say to her to belittle her or poke fun at her.

Because the bottom line is Bonnie still distrusts him, still doesn't understand what he wants from her.

It makes it worse that the vampire is not letting her get away, forcing her squirming frame against his larger one until they are practically spooning.

The tears come easily, uncontrolled and yet soothing.

She has wanted this, needed this, found a frightening release in this… and she has no idea why.

The sobs that rock her figure are painful, irrational, and unstoppable.

There must be something wrong with her if she felt more in a quickie with _Damon_ (who is the sum of everything she despises, who is notoriously obsessed with two other women) than in any half-failed relationship she has attempted to build so far.

"Why can't I be better than this?" she whimpers into the pillow, shuddering, anticipating the moment Damon will take offense at her words and pull her apart with his.

She needs to feel his loathing on her flesh so her world will find its axis again, and she needs to hate him again so the confusion will wither away. She needs boundaries, distances, punishments.

She wants Damon to tear her self-esteem apart so she won't have to be the one to do it, but the expected insults never slip out of his lips.

"_You are_. You are better than this. Better than any of us. This night is on me, Bonnie. My fault."

He breathes into her ear and he sounds so different that Bonnie might believe she is imagining it all if he wasn't holding her tight still.

She thinks this the kindest lie she has ever received from anyone, and it changes _everything_, because she has no defense against it.

When the tears run out Bonnie experiences an odd lightness of being. Damon's hands are running up and down her arms, soothing. For the first she _knows_, deep in her bones, that the invisible cord that joins her to the vampire behind her has never had anything to do with Elena. This volatile heat belongs to them only.

Maybe she doesn't understand it yet, but it's _there_ and it is no longer so difficult or shameful to accept.


	21. Shades Of Hatred

**Shades of Hatred**

**Author:** skysamuelle  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon, Damon/Elena  
**Fandom:** The Vampire Diaries

**Rated:** G

**Summary:** Most people walked through life cultivating a humbling need to be well-liked. Damon Salvatore did not.

**A/N:** Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. **Prompt: Hate is easier than love.**

**To everyone who keeps reviewing my little stories: I can't thank you enough, your comments make my day!**

* * *

Most people walked through life cultivating a humbling need to be well-liked.

Humans, Supernaturals – it was all the same really. Everybody wanted to be popular, loved, and admired.

Damon Salvatore did not.

He thrived on receiving that sort of envy that was tinged with resentment and shame, if anything else: everybody wanted to be like him, because being evil seemed to always get him where he wanted to go with no hindrances.

Mostly, he felt at his best when he was being hated. And it was _not_ because of some emo-bullshit about self-destructive tendencies and self-punishment, it doesn't matter what Dr. Phil preached.

He loved being unpopular, loved that it came so easily to him. People had a habit of hating him with a passion that left a mark on them.

They did not love him as easily or as deeply, but this didn't bother him, because he was not exactly a fan of most people.

Stefan's hate tasted either like well-gained relief or vindication, according the pace of their relationship at the time.

Elena's hate… was not quite as pleasant although he found her spoiled princess attitude whenever she tried to prove it undeniably endearing. Especially after the 'Jeremy-Gilbert-incident.'

Bonnie Bennett's hate is rooted in her narrow-minded view of the world, and this alone should wear thin the little patience he has, but it strangely doesn't.

It's so thick that Damon can nearly physically taste it during each one of their glaring contests, and hell it does _something_ to him every fucking time.

He was never the kind of man or vampire to get lost in a girl's eyes: even with Katherine and Elena, he was more into appreciating their _other assets – _be it their bosoms or bottoms or pretty little pink lips.

Yet, the way Bonnie's eyes burned and darkened whenever they met his made it impossible to not pay attention. They made him want to devour her whole.

Bonnie's hate was a sweet-flavored poison, and all he wanted when she was around was to lap it up. Because it was _fun_, especially if resentment was everything he could ever squeeze out of her.

But…Damon wanted a real truce, if occasion to gain one arose. The little witch was going to become a contender when she grew up, and beside that… he was curious to see if he had a shot at her infamous loyalty. From the outside, that looked like a precious thing to possess. He had a feeling it could prove just as empowering as her loathing.


	22. 3 Times

**Three Times Bonnie Bennett Almost Died**

**Author:** skysamuelle  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon  
**Fandom:** The Vampire Diaries

**Rated:pg 13**

**Summary: **The title explains everything, figuratively speaking.

**A/N:** Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. Prompt by **angryzen**.

**I**

The first time Bonnie Bennett's heart figuratively stops, she is doing the impossible: having a genuinely pleasant, politically correct conversation with none other than _Damon Salvatore_. It's not her fault, she will convince herself afterwards in the quiet darkness of her bedroom. Elena had talked her ears off about playing nice with the devil all because now that she and Stefan were off, she was giving a try to the older, insane Salvatore.

Bonnie just wanted her best friend to shut the passive-aggressive guilt tripping off … this is why the witch consented to talk to the leech in complete absence of threats or any other allusions which might be interpreted as hostile. The problem is Damon's wit is explosively entertaining when he is not set on being a _complete_ dick. And his eyes get that weird metallic twinkle when he is actually interested in what he is saying, and there is the smirking and the getting too close for her liking…

In short, it is really hard to get distracted from him when you are _forced _to stay there at some stupid birthday party and enjoy his salacious comments on everybody and their grandmother.

So when a visibly incredulous Caroline grabbed her elbow to pull her aside from their other friends toward the end of the night and point-blankly stated, "Stake me if I'm wrong, but were you really laughing with Damon? Because if you have a doppelganger too, it's a good moment to come clean."

Bonnie did a double take. "It was more like I was laughing _at_ him," she corrects regardless, sounding firm even while she feels guilty as charged.

Caroline shoots her a sideways, eloquent glance. "You were having fun in his annoying presence."

"I was not!"

The blonde vampire smirks coyly, placing a finger on Bonnie's lips to silence her. "It's okay, it will be our secret."

Bonnie just glares resentfully as her friend sighs a bit too deeply for dramatic effect.

"I'm so relieved you're not perfect Bon-Bon."

At that moment, the witch wishes for nothing but the ability to disappear. Forever, because that is exactly how long Caroline can pull off not letting her live this… accident…down.

**II**

The second time, to no one's surprise, is still _his_ fault.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Only Damon would DARE to spring that on her during a Buffy marathon. They are not dating by any measure, he has taken to this disturbing habit of dropping by the Bennett house for unannounced visits since Elena and Stefan reunited. It's always like he expects to be entertained, and she has discovered that it's easier to let him hang around than try to get him to leave.

So basically, Damon has no right or excuse to say that thing.

Bonnie feels frozen inside at how _the_ words sound in his semiserious tone.

She does not even look away from the TV screen as she answers. She can't move frankly, and if she could she is not sure she would choose to look at his face anyway.

"You're wrong."

"No, I'm not," he frowns, sounding insulted and leans uncomfortably closer, making her shiver.

"I _know_ I'm in love with you," he repeats it like a challenge, a velvety whisper against her earlobe.

At this point, she is forced to turn and look into his eyes mainly because she is scared that he will start to nuzzle her if she does move out of his grasp. Also, his lips were already brushing against her skin, and that made her stomach drop.

"Take that back, for your sake." And she knows that she is sounding and looking ridiculous, because the vampire's eyebrows just shot up to his hairline.

Bonnie glares harder at his puzzled-but-intrigued expression, hoping to drive the point home.

She just gets kissed instead.

**III**

The first time Damon enters inside her, Bonnie feels incredibly lost and vulnerable. It's like she just handed the least reliable person ever a way too large chunk of herself, and she is suddenly realizing there's no going back.

Physical intimacy was always a big deal for her whereas for Damon… this was not always the case.

_What if I'm not good enough?_

The thought pops inside her head unexpectedly and it won't leave, sending her in a fit of panic. She stiffens instinctively, gazing with watery eyes at some point of the ceiling …

Until a large palm cups her jaw and angles her visage toward his, so their eyes are meeting again.

The blue gaze that holds hers is kind, affectionate… adoring if she dares to define it that way.

"Stay with me," he demands, and the earnestness in his voice gets her to smile because…. That's such a very Damon-like thing to say. It somehow reassures her: she knows him, knows how they feel about each other. It's scary but beautiful too, this new intimacy of feeling him inside her body. It's drastically different from the sex she has had with others, even when they were others she loved too.

Damon feels like he's … hers, part of her – and that's mystifying and wonderful at once.

"Okay," she murmurs on his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist.


	23. Fair Play

**FAIR PLAY**

**Author:** skysamuelle  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon  
**Fandom:** The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: pg**

**Summary: Bonnie has a bit of fun at Damon's expense at a party.**

**A/N:** Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics.

* * *

The way Damon is looking at her tonight is downright disturbing. His gaze has always had that slightly scary predatory focus when they argued, but this is something entirely different.

His eyes are indulging on her body with a deliberate but casual laziness that doesn't bother hiding his appreciation of her evening dress.

Bonnie makes a mental note to never shop alone with Caroline again, especially for a school event. Also, she needs to find Elena again soon. Damon wouldn't dare look at her like that if Elena was around.

Okay, that was make-believe: the bastard has no problem checking out everybody and their grandmother even _in front_ of the supposed love of his life. He is just that shameless.

Damn Caroline again. If the dress was not this absolutely beautiful shade of aqua-green Bonnie would have not even considered buying it – it is strapless and ankle-long, but the silk clings to her figure in a way Bonnie is not really used to.

Her skin feels like it is on fire, and Bonnie is not sure if the reason is Damon Salvatore's blatant eye-fucking from across the room or the vodka-laced punch she has pampered herself with.

'_Stop looking at me,'_ she mouths, knowing he'll hear anyway.

But Damon being Damon just smirks wide and shark-like and swaggers over to her side.

"Go away," she snaps tonelessly as soon as he is slouching beside her.

"One of those days, my fiery little judgy fury, you'll confess you like your world better with me in it. You're lucky I'm willing to be patient with you until then," he assures patronizingly, leaning forward to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

Swatting away his hand and fighting the instinct to cross her arms before her chest so he could not keep ogling at it , Bonnie sits up straighter to try and seem at least a bit imposing (and not as tipsy as she actually is).

"You'll wait for a very long time."

He returns her forced, visibly hostile smile with one of those smoldering, insinuating grins that always make her want to punch him. "Oh, I don't think so. I bet I'm already growing on you. "

Later, Bonnie would find it impossible to justify to herself what she did in response to that stupid, conceited remark.

Surely, a normal reaction would have been emptying her punch on his head, drenching that dark, soft-looking hair of his. Or to give the asshole an aneurysm.

But TipsyBonnie is notoriously more instinct-prone than EveryDayBonnie, so she takes the impromptu decision to give the vampire a taste of his game.

The witch languidly slants her body toward his, inching close enough that her nose is nearly touching his…

And she can feel Damon's body tensing in anticipation of whatever his dirty mind is concocting, his head tilting slightly like he's preparing to meet her lips…

"I would prefer cancer," she says in a low, seductive tone that does not allow him to understand her words' meaning right away.

Then she pulls abruptly but fluidly away, enjoying the priceless shock all over Damon's features while he blinks and processes what just happened.

As she left him there to reach Caroline, Bonnie could sense his eyes on her back, following her every step.

This time it did not quite bother her that much.


	24. the secret language of the night

**The secret language of the night**

**Author:** skysamuelle  
**Pairing:** Bonnie/Damon  
**Fandom:** The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: R**

**Summary: **All control freaks hold on to their routines, whether they are human or not.**A/N:** Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. **Prompt**: Making love/Fucking in the dark. Also, I decided that this takes place in the same universe as **Impurity**, **Sinner**, and **Absolution**. You can consider it a direct follow up to Absolution, but it can be read independently with no problems.

Under the daylight, it's easier to pretend that nothing is different from how it has always been. There's always someone around, between them, and it makes it easier to play the part, knowing what their audience expects.

But at night, there's nobody acting as a buffer between the psychotic vampire and the fire-loving witch: in the dark there are no labels and no distances and no third parties.

Bonnie will leave her bedroom's window open and go through her bedtime motions; she will turn off the light and wait. She will know when he is there, although she can't quite see him in the pitch black of the room.

She will be relieved at the familiar sinking weight of the edge of her bed, and she will come awake in a matter of seconds. She will sit up, or scoot over… and then it will be just skin on skin and lips on lips for either minutes or hours.

It always happens like this.

It's comforting for them both, the sheer predictability of an intimacy they never saw coming until they were already too dependent on it.

Damon moves like lightning when it comes to taking off all and every item of clothing separating their bodies from each other, a fact that Bonnie is still surprised at not finding off-putting.

She likes the contrast between their frames – the way his larger and cooler one makes her feel strangely sheltered when he hovers above her and kisses lingeringly every edge of her face. The darkness makes his featherlike caresses during foreplay feel like a dream, and so surrendering is easy, natural.

She can pretend it's just a fantasy, just the guilt-free, consequence-less imagination of a teenager whose house is empty a bit too often. She can forget that he flirts with others during daytime, and she is not forced to wonder where these nightly visits are going.

All that matters is that his touch teases her gently until she _needs_ him inside so badly that gentleness is not an option anymore.

Perhaps it should bother her the way they always start soft and end in a frenzied, animalistic mess but the truth is that she likes that contrast too, and the contradictions it implies.

There's a line between fucking and making love and it blurs in the space of seconds, so they can both enjoy the twisted comfort of not knowing which they are doing.

Some nights Damon's mouth will taste every inch of her skin, his hands will fondle every line and curve at leisure before she is ready. Others she will do the most of the exploring. There's a secret code of sounds and responses they are each learning and testing, testing and fool-proofing continuously, patiently. Like the body is a map hiding clues to a deeper treasure and their quest holds something sacred.

There's always a point when the hunger grows volatile, impatient – the skin itches with a hum of primal heat, the arousal becomes a vice that makes it impossible to breathe freely…

And that's the exact point the quest ends and tenderness becomes a faded memory.

Damon always kisses her deep on the mouth before he flips her over, on her hands and knees, and Bonnie might bet the gesture has some grand meaning to him, but it's also the exact sort of signal she is not yet ready to decipher.

His thrusts become harsher, deeper and sometimes downright vicious… viciously slow, that is. It's probably a sign of her deteriorating mental health that she is constantly begging for 'harder' and 'faster' or just plain old 'more'.

It's that sense of urgency and necessity that she reads into the hands that fist her long hair and clutch at her hips bruisingly that she truly, inherently craves.

It's the way she whimpers and begs for release that allows him to forget he might be afraid of this new development between them, of the power the witch holds over him.

It all comes down to needing each other without false pretenses and trusting each other beyond constraints.

Because every time she allows him to take over, she is counting on the carefulness underneath the superficial veneer of brutality, she is choosing to confide that he won't hurt her, just as much as Damon is trusting that she won't reject that other side of himself.

He never bites her, and she never asks him to.

Some mornings she awakes alone, missing something she refuses to recognize fully, some others she awakes tangled up in him, to sloppy good-morning kisses and quick goodbyes.

Bonnie pretends to not notice that, as weeks grow into months, the mornings she awakes without Damon are becoming less and less.

She has no code of behavior for the daylight hours. Yet.


	25. Gravity

**Gravity**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: G**

**Summary/ ****PROMPT :** Bamon are finally together but something sets Damon off into self-destruct mode, and Bonnie attempts to help while Damon thinks that she should just run away. Inspired by "Runaway" by Kanye West.

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics.**

* * *

"You can do better than me."

The admission tastes like acid on his tongue and Damon needs to focus on the spotless white of the ceiling to even voice it. He can hear the sheets rustling as Bonnie gets up from the bed to collect her bra from the floor and put it back on.

"I know," she says, clipped and stern, without even turning toward him. He tilts his head to take in the straight line of her back as she finishes dressing, looking anywhere but at the bed he is still laying in.

He can't blame her for not wanting to face him, really, after what he has done. If he was in her shoes and she had betrayed him like that, he would certainly be devising a thousand different ways to psychologically torture her until she was broken.

But Bonnie had raged, cried, listened stonily to his stupid explanations until she steeled her heart and took him back.

Because she claimed to understand him, and she was not nearly as tired as she should be of all the shit he pulled.

He knows that there's a side of her that hated to swallow her pride and forgive him, because her nifty moral compass was still telling her that he didn't deserve it. Damon agrees with it for once.

_Things_ like him should not be allowed to break people like Bonnie Bennett.

He has always admired Bonnie's idealistic integrity, the steadfast way she strived to stay faithful to it despite the personal cost. It made her special and he feels irrationally angry that she is compromising for _love_. She should know better.

She should know better than to allow him to do to her what Katherine did to him.

Just like he should have known better than to crawl back to her bed. His lack of impulse control and his selfishness always find new ways to hurt her eventually: he hates it and he hates himself a bit more every time she gets that furious wretchedness in her glassy green eyes.

"Then why are we here, Bonnie?"

Even this, he knows, is the wrong way to break the cycle. Bonnie Bennett deserves better than his apparent mockery and his mind games. But he's wired all wrong and he can't stop himself, just like so many times in past.

Finally, Bonnie turns back toward him and her expression is stern, cool. She doesn't say anything, just keeps her gaze on his, expectant, implicitly challenging him to continue.

"I slept with your best friend," he taunts with far less vehemence than he means, his words nearly trembling toward the end.

Bonnie sighs, shakes her head in disappointment before finishing buttoning her shirt.

"I've always thought love was a choice. I believe it could be handed like a gift and withdrawn if you realized the person you had chosen was not what you believed. I was obviously wrong."

The witch comes to sit beside him on his bed, and the dead-on seriousness in her eyes is something he can barely bear. Nobody else has ever looked at _him_ with so much focus except her, and this frightens him and it makes him feel so… naked, like she might be able to look through him.

"I have not chosen to love you, Damon – it just … happened, the way tornados and other natural disasters do. I've accepted it, and I've accepted you and all your freaking emotional baggage, because the times you made an effort, it was amazing. I saw the best and the worst of you and it didn't kill this …connection between us, it only fed it. I thought it meant we had something real, regardless of our issues and outside circumstances. And then you took my trust and threw it in the trash. Elena was the one constant I had and you took it away without a second thought. For what exactly? The satisfaction of knowing she had finally chosen you above Stefan? The peace of mind of knowing that you didn't want her so much anymore? "

"Yes," he replies hoarsely, without blinking. "You've always known I'm not some selfless prince."

"Of course you're not," she smiles bitterly, and for a moment her hurt is his hurt and Damon feels like he is suffocating. "But sending you away would not change the fact that we love each other. You and me are just… you and me. You'll just have to live with it, because if you pull another stunt like this, I won't choose your love over my dignity _again._ "

In the weirdest way possible, Damon thinks he understands what she means. Elena was the prize of all prizes, the goal he was set on achieving as soon he set foot in Mystic Falls, but he had pushed her away easily enough once it hit him that he didn't know how to exist without touching Bonnie again. Bonnie was not simply someone he wanted around: she was somebody his universe gravitated toward naturally since even before he met her.

He leans forward, cupping her cheek tenderly, and hopes the love he feels shows in every inch of his face because this girl deserves nothing less.

"You should run far away from me, little witch."

The defeat in his tone is nearly a living, breathing thing but he is not ashamed. He has always wanted to guard her from harm, but he never imagined it meant protecting her from himself too.

"Probably," she chuckles, but leans more into his hand. "But you already do all the running away this relationship can bear."

"I'm here now," he promises, kissing her forehead with all the reverence he can't put into words.

For Bonnie, he wants to be more than_ this beast _who only grabs and devours what he wants. Damon is shocked to acknowledge that for the first time in all his existence he wants to be _a man_.


	26. Drunk and Drunker

**DRUNK AND DRUNKER**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: G**

**Summary**** : Drunk Damon and Drunk Bonnie keep each other company. Hilarity ensues.**

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt;** "This place it always such a mess, sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn." The Wallflowers

* * *

"Oh Bon Bon, this town's always such a mess, sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn," Damon slurs drunkenly, lunging a heavy arm over the witch's bony shoulder.

"I might agree," she shrugs, possibly drunker than he is if Damon judges by the shrill note in her voice. He decides on the spot that he likes Drunk Bonnie even better than he likes being drunk. Drunk little witches are cheery, and apparently not judgy at all.

He likes how petite she is, fitting right under his arm, so he pulls her to his chest, smiling like a loon when she balls up her fist and tries to punch his shoulder to the best of her abilities.

They had a long day, saving Mystic Falls from evil Japanese demons during prom night. The same night the girls (and Damon is including his little brother in the category) missed most of the prom, Damon saw Elena crawling her way back to Stefan, and Bonnie dumping her latest loser boyfriend.

Right now, Bonnie and Damon are hiding on the school stairway while the rest of the group is dancing the remaining of the night away in their casual fight-mode clothes. It was a pathetic display.

"You are such a… leech!" Bonnie growls cutely against his shirt, and he suddenly has to let her go, because the movement of her mouth on his flesh through the silk has sent a wave of uncomfortable… _something _along his spine.

"You are a sweet little bitch," the vampire adds fondly, pulling at her hair slightly.

Bonnie downs a drink quickly and refills both her glass and Damon's, needing a bit more of the liquid courage to deal with the weird direction her night is taking.

Damn, she is so glad Damon talked her into stealing the punch bowl, and she is downright grateful that he emptied a whole bottle of whiskey into it. She could swear she can't feel her face anymore, and that's exactly what she needs to end with a flourish the worst year of her life.

"I have a wish for the upcoming year."

"We are not on New Years, Bonnie."

"I don't care. I just care that you stop grabbing me every time we have an argument. I don't like being dragged around. It's chauvinistic and degrading."

He looks dazedly at her, like she just sprouted a second head.

"I have no idea what you just said."

"I'm not surprised," she snorts.

"Hey, take your judgmental little snort back. I was schooled at a time when going to school still meant receiving an education and you… you are a _cheerleader!_ "

Bonnie's mouth hangs open in a lovely gasp of outrage before she jabs her forefinger in his sternum: "I think that this is the meanest thing you _ever_ told me."

"Sorry," he replies without thinking, tipping his head lower so he can…

"Are you _smelling my hair_?"

"Is it a crime?"

Bonnie bites the inside of her cheek really hard, trying to find an appropriate, rational answer. But trying to think straight is ruining the light, sunshine-y feeling the alcohol imbued her with, so she gives up and offers, raising up her glass:

"Let's have a toast. To the stupid ever saccharine Stelena and the ever-annoying Forwood. Because they manage to keep their relatively sane romance in this hellhole … unlike us."

Damon tilts his glass towards hers with a disapproving head-shake. "You are definitely a cheerleader, to come up with _shipping names _for your bunch of idiots. Do you read gossip magazines too?"

Bonnie just elbows him in the gut, giggling openly as he spills all of his drink on his expensive-looking shirt.

"I should snap your neck for this…_affront._"

"And I should burn you to a crisp for… everything else."

She says it so merrily that the vampire can only smile at her room-brightening grin and sparkly olive-green eyes. He thinks he wants to …steal the witch and keep her in his pocket forevermore, like she is a shiny little amulet and not a living person.

"I really like your dress."

"Thank you. Purple is so my color. Too bad it's been torn to the side."

"I like torn. Torn leaves all your shoulder bare, so I get more cleavage."

"You are a pig."

"I'm a healthy boy, and you are _hot_."

"I'm not going to thank you for that."

Damon pouts, slinking closer to her: "You never thank me for anything, little witch. It's not fair."

"Do you really think that?" the witch asks suspiciously, bending forward just enough that their noses are nearly touching.

"Sure, I'm always saving your skinny ass but you-"

"No, the part about me being… hot."

"Oh. Sure. I _love_ your rack. … and you got that supple little-"

"Okay!" she cuts him off, covering with her hand his rambling mouth before he dishes out something that might traumatize her permanently.

Damon freezes at the contact. For a moment there's this strange electricity tingling up her arm, before something else dawns on her and her hand drops.

"Wait, you are not _always_ saving my anything! I'm pretty sure we are _even_ on the day-saving-count!"

Damon's almost anthropomorphic eyebrows arch eloquently. "Whatever, witch."


	27. The Claiming

**The Claiming**

**Author: **skysamuelle**  
Pairing: **Bonnie/Damon**  
Fandom: **The Vampire Diaries

**Rated: Mature**

**Summary****: **Damon hated it when Bonnie took whole a free night to hang out with her witch friends.

**A/N: Written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. ****Prompt;** Girls' night out (Damon doesn't like it one bit).

* * *

Damon hated it when Bonnie took whole a free night to hang out with her witch friends. For one, he was pretty sure that said witches hated vampires in general and him in particular. And… they hid under their sexually liberated, feminist, crap, but Damon personally believed those five weirdo girls were most simply sluts. He has been banned from repeating that last important detail to his girlfriend unfortunately. The first and only time he did, Bonnie had launched into an endless lecture about how he was a product of his time and felt threatened by women mentally _and_ physically uninhibited.

Every time Damon thought of that, it was almost like he could feel his ears stinging. In irritation, of course.

He did not feel _threatened_ by anything, he just did not like the influence those _bitches_ had on his girl.

Why couldn't Bonnie stick to Caroline and Elena?

He growled low as he watched Bonnie reapplying her dark, Glossy Chocolate 01 lipstick on her full lips.

Her dress was long-sleeved and lacy, a beautiful shade of purplish-red that stood fine against her complexion. The medieval-like dress reached a few inches lower than her knees, but her shoulders were completely bare and there was a relatively generous expanse of her back and cleavage left uncovered.

Back to when he was obsessed with Elena, he had not minded the long-haired brunette's occasionally too short skirts, too deep necklines or skimpy pjs: no, he had found her dual persona of fair maiden and self assured seductress exciting.

With Bonnie he sensed a migraine coming just looking at her as she prepared for her stupid girls night out, even if her red dress was downright modest if compared to some stuff Elena wore.

He was leaning against the edge of her bathroom door, arms crossed before his chest as he squared his jaw, grinded his teeth together and wondered why he put himself through this. He did not need to imagine her friends encouraging _his_ Bonnie to flirt around and accept drinks from horny strangers.

It was _not _like the vampire minded that others noticed that his girlfriend was hot; Bonnie was a sexy, fierce little thing and he was proud whenever she took credit for it….unless he wasn't around when she did.

"If you glare at me any harder, I'll combust," Bonnie quipped, doing her hair up in a French knot and admiring her handy work in the mirror. She was smiling slightly, although _distractedly_ at his current irritation. That just put him off more.

Damon came behind her, resting his hands around her waist. "You look too delicious to be left unguarded."

"I can look after myself."

He growled again, flattening his front against her back. "Can you?"

Bonnie tried, rather ineffectively, to shake free of his steely grasp. "We already talked about this. You need to rein in your territorial issues. Possibly before I lose my mind."

The vampire smirked darkly and dipped his head lower to run his nose against her soft neck as one of his hands cupped her breast roughly through the cloth.

"You _are_ mine," he snarled, sharp and sinister, as his fangs skimmed and nipped the contours of her bare shoulder.

"I'm going to give you the worst aneurism of your life-" she threatened through her racing heartbeat because, although it went against her principles and girl power related ideals, his possessive behavior excited her a bit.

"Will you?" he questioned smugly, fangs nipping harder at her skin less gently before his mouth suckled on a particularly sensitive spot of hers, with enough violence to leave a permanent mark.

"You're playing dirty," the witch moaned softly, a wave of heat rushing through her veins. Her body was melting like butter.

"I always do, sweetie."

He squeezed her breast less than gently, two fingers literally digging into her pointy nipple and all she could do was arch into his touch, craving more.

He lifted the hem of lacy cloth up so he could sneak a hand between her legs, caressing possessively his way up to her inner thigh.

He could smell her arousal and it made him press more intimately against her back, groaning in appreciation. He teased her, taking his time stroking up and down the soft skin before reaching the place they both wanted his hand to be.

"Hurry up!" she panted, hating his self-satisfied smirk and the thrill in his blue eyes reflected in the mirror.

Damon pulled and bunched up her panties so they were no more than a thick string between her labia, exercising a wickedly sweet pressure on her clitoris. Her breath broke – Damon shifted the pressure and pushed the damp cotton deeper into her slit until she was gasping for air.

"Bastard…" she reprimanded him, noticing in her reflection that her mascara was smudged.

"I love you too, honey," he chuckled, and the wide, wolfish grin on his face made her knees weak.

His pants pooled around his ankles while her underwear was pulled down to her knees. She hated the needy whimper that escaped her throat when his cock entered her heat harshly.

Her hips met his in a frenzied, spasmodic dance of too deep, rough thrusts.

"More," Bonnie commanded, bracing herself on the sink as the surge of sensual, electric power pulsed underneath every inch of her skin.

Damon complied and slid deeper with none of his usual smartass-ery, his darkening eyes mesmerized by their joined reflection, his features stiffened by a ravenous need.

"Faster now."

It blew her away every single time when her vampire simply obeyed her so promptly, bedroom-wise. For someone who claimed to be constantly in control of everyone and everything in his life, he sure was quick to give the dominator role over to her as soon she wanted it. She loved and treasured this quirk as the most palpable sign of his trust in her.

They came together, fast and hard, in one of the most perfectly timed explosions Bonnie had the pleasure of fantasizing about.

She kissed him deep and sloppy when he pulled out of her body, her flesh singing with fulfillment.

Damon was a bit startled when she started washing her face and do her make up over. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to be late enough as it is," she explained without glancing back, like her reasoning should be perfectly clear.

"You're _still _going?" he shook his head, not quite able to shake off the pleasant aftershocks of his orgasm. His mind felt a bit… dazed.

The witch kissed his cheek affectionately and stroked his face. She _did_ feel in the mood for cuddling now, but she could not afford to let Damon win. He was the sort of person who would ask for your entire arm if you promised to give up your finger.

"I love you _very_ much, but I won't allow you to lock me up inside a box just because you're mentally deranged."

She kissed him on the cheek again and then breezed out of the door.


	28. Ringtones From Hell

**RINGTONES FROM HELL**

**Author: Sky Samuelle**

**Rating: G**

**CHARACTERS: Bonnie, Damon, Caroline, Stefan**

**Ships: none **

**Summary: Damon and Bonnie have very peculiar ringtones for each other **

**AN: onedj is the brilliant mind who suggested the ringtones and inspired this humble drabble. Credit her imagination for it.**

* * *

If there was a tv show whose popularity Damon had never understood, it was _The People's Court_. Stefan argued that it was because he was a sociopath, that he could never understand the appeal of being interested in the real lives of real human people.

Damon inwardly agreed, although he outwardly stated that no amount of kissing up to Zach –whose favorite show really was 'The People's Court,' pathetically enough- and repeating high school would make his little brother human again.

Yet, unexpectedly, it came a time in Damon's life when he could not think of that stupid show without a particularly self-satisfied smirk coming to his lips.

Stefan's forehead furrowed in skeptic incredulity as a familiar theme rose in the kitchen just as the screen of Damon's cell on the table flashed to light.

"Do you have _The People's Court's_ theme song as your ringtone, or am I hallucinating?"

Damon shrugs casually, taking his sweet time before picking up, blue eyes gleaming.

"Only for my personal judge, jury, and executioner," he replies, voice light, and finally answers the call, his tone deliberately and exaggeratedly nonchalant. "Hello, witch!"

* * *

The first time Caroline heard the disquieting notes of the _Jaws_ theme coming out of Bonnie's cell, the only reaction she was capable of was the probably unattractive widening of her cerulean eyes.

The second time, she couldn't refrain herself from commenting on it.

"You've _got_ to change that. It's freaky, and it creeps me out."

Bonnie's one response was rolling her eyes heavenwards. "Some vampire you are, Caro."

The witch shook her head in mock disappointment, despite the amused smirk slipping on her lips. "A more perfect ringtone for Damon Salvatore doesn't even _exist_."


	29. Seven Days Of Sweet Nothing

**SEVEN DAYS OF SWEET NOTHING**

**Author: Sky Samuelle**

**Rating: PG**

**Ships: Bonnie/Damon **

**Summary:** Damon and Bonnie are on the verge of becoming sexaholics, but Bonnie has a solution: a no sex for a week rule.

* * *

"I think we should see other people."

Bonnie doesn't exactly mind her words while she says them, because frankly their recent all-morning-long sex-a-thon has her physically and mentally exhausted.

It's a good thing that she lost the ability to be afraid of Damon a long time ago, because the growl that echoes in their otherwise silent bedroom is as beastly as beastly gets.

She cringes as her phrasing finally registers inside her head – her thoughts definitely came out all wrong.

"I didn't mean it that way!"

"I sure hope not!"

Damon grips her bare hip and turns her around roughly, so they are both lying on their side, facing each other. His expression is nothing but dark and menacing, and the witch's gaze softens a little in response, wanting to sooth him. She even reaches out to touch his cheek, stroking it gently and slowly, before she tries to explain herself again.

"We are new people in a new apartment in a new town, and for three weeks all we've done is stay in and have sex with each other. And when we go out we manage to have some kind of sex anyway, or do I need to remind you about the bench incident in Central Park, the grocery store one, or even -"

"I don't get why you try and make it sound like a bad thing," he scoffs at her increasingly eager tirade, all traces of darkness gone from his visage in favor of a grating amusement.

"We cannot spend all our time wrapped in each other and we definitely can't spend all our time alone having sex on any surface available."

Damon's blue eyes twinkle a brilliant cobalt as his lips quirk up in a wistful smile. "But we do it so well…"

"Can you take this seriously, please?"

"Not really."

She glares at him, exasperated, and refuses to add anything else. For reasons unknown, maybe because she looks sexy as hell, Damon feels himself begin to cave in.

"I don't really see your problem with this, Bonnie," he sighs, irritated. "We've been together for three years. You should be glad the fires are still burning."

"I miss doing other stuff together. Back in Mystic Falls, sex _was not_ the only thing we did together."

"Because there was _always_ some crisis going, and _your_ friends there are freaks."

Bonnie makes a calculated choice to not bring up that his obsessive tendencies had not helped either. There are already plenty of reasons for why this relationship should not be working at all. He is controlling, possessive, arrogant and insensitive, not to mention occasionally violent (although that violence is not directed to her, _ever_). She is independent, slightly judgmental and often a bit too proud to admit she is wrong. They should not fit, but they do and all Bonnie wants is that they keep it that way.

"Don't _you_ miss when I was your friend on top of everything else?"

Damon sighs again, more deeply, but this time she can tell it's just for show and out of an effort to not analyze what she's saying.

"You are still my bossy know-it-all very i_ntimate_ friend," he pauses, his eyes boring into hers and his lips pressing together before he surrenders. "What do you want to do about it?"

Her answering smile is bright and soft, making her face so much younger for a moment, and it nearly takes his breath away.

"Just for one week: let's try banning sex and doing everything else."

The vampire groans into his pillow overdramatically loud. "I knew I would regret it."

Flying high on her suddenly stellar mood, Bonnie threads her fingers through his short hair and suggests with all too apparent casualty; "It's Friday. We've got two more days to kill before a new week starts."

Her boyfriend immediately perks up at that. "You know what, I don't think that will be a problem."

**Monday **

The first day is the most difficult, predictably.

There are several instances where Damon throws extremely eloquent glances at Bonnie, either puppy glances that plead with her to end his misery or filthy looks that make all sorts of wicked promises.

Her body responds, a pleasant burn flaring up from her loins, but her mind is resolute to stick to the plan, so she either swats him across his head or draws away from him with a mildly reproaching scowl.

During daytime, they do their best to stay apart: she gets busy with college courses and college friends, and Damon wanders bars aimlessly, picking idle fights with any supernatural being he came across just to take the edge off.

Nighttime is the hardest part, because how are they supposed to lie down in the same bed without succumbing to both habit and temptation? The idea concerned Bonnie enough that she had found an activity that would potentially keep them busy all night, and hopefully distracted from touching each other.

After all, no TV show in history had the penchant to shock and distract like LOST, and Damon is kind of like a kid – easily excitable if you know his triggers.

They sit on the couch with their Thai takeaway, despite much needling and stalling and protesting on Damon's part, and Bonnie tries really hard to convince him of why he should force himself to pay attention to the screen for more than his customary five minutes. In the end, she is forced to threaten him of serious physical damage to make him shut his mouth and eat. By the second episode's ending, Damon no longer needs any persuasion to keep the marathon going – rather, he is quizzing her on whys and whats and how has he never seen this before.

'_Just like a kid'_ Bonnie thinks affectionately and then something extraordinarily strange occurs to her.

"You know, that Boone character – the rich kid with the bitchy stepsister- looks a little like you."

Actually it's quite more than a little, but she can't feed Damon's ego like that- it's just not her nature, boyfriend or not. Ian Somehander is universally hot, and Damon already believes he's a divine gift to womankind.

The vampire snorts derisively, surprising her. "He does _not_."

"He does."

"Not."

The witch shakes her head, having fun: "Get your super-sight in check, vampire, Boone could be your younger, sexier brother."

Damon narrows a particularly hostile gaze on her, like she has just offended him. "I do not look like a guy who has a dog's name."

Really, even after all the years they have known each other, it's at moments like this that Bonnie is sure she will never understand how his head works."What?"

"What?" he echoes mockingly and gets on episode four.

**TUESDAY**

Tuesday is easier.

They agree on having a few friends over for dinner. Bonnie picks a couple of her college courses-mates and feels practically giddy as she and Damon go over the menu and cook together. At a point Damon chases her out of 'his kitchen' because she was messing up his sausage, and she retaliated by conjuring some definitely girly decorations for the table.

Her good mood comes to an abrupt halt when she opens their door to Damon's guests: a thousand-something-year-old Djin Damon met at some bar, and a definitely lesbian witch with a misguided love for leather dresses.

Yet, against all odds, dinner is a complete success.

Everyone mingles well with everyone, and the food is good and the conversation even better, and the wine the Djin brought? Awesome.

When they are getting in bed and Bonnie expresses her surprise at her satisfaction, Damon just snorts at her with an air of absolute superiority. "Do you see? This is where being judgy gets you: on the I'm wrong side."

**WEDNESDAY**

Bonnie has a secret soft spot for musicals, this Damon knows from the Phantom Of the Opera poster she used to have in her room during high school.

So he decides to one-up her, on the off chance that she will be so impressed she'll skip all this no sex nonsense. Or at least this is how he decides to justify it to himself when he does quite a lot of compelling around to find good seats for him and his witch at Broadway' s current production of _'__Little Shop of Horrors.'_

The moment he hands her their tickets is the moment he is reminded of why he puts so much stock in keeping her happy: the bright, soft smile that she throws at him, like he just handed the moon to her, warms him all over. Bonnie is always beautiful to him, but when she smiles like that, radiant and transparently happy, she glows with a sort of untaintable innocence of spirit that never fails to humble him.

She laughs and shakes her head in mock disapproval as she reads about the plot – it's all about a poor young man who works in a florist shop and raises a plant that feeds on human blood, even naming her like his one and secret love.

"You just can't stay away from bloodshed, can you?"

"Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie: what have I said about that narrow minded perspective of yours?"

"Oh, shut up." The paper she swats across his head is more a playful challenge than a token of real annoyance, and he can't help grasping her waist and pulling her in for a long, sloppy kiss.

He is not quite as disappointed as he should be when she pushes him away, effectively preventing him from going beyond heavy petting.

Once more thing that happens contrary to her expectations: Bonnie is endlessly amused at the musical and its gruesome ending.

"I guess it's easy to find the humor in that after all the real drama we've seen," she says as they leave the theater and take a nice nocturnal walk, her arm tucked under his.

"Grams used to take me every year to see Wicked. It was like our unspoken tradition since I was old enough to remember, and I loved it," she confesses in the end. "After she … died, dad took me to see Phantom of the Opera. He thought it would have cheered me up. It was great, but not the same you know. I don't think my father ever grasped the difference."

Damon kisses the side of her forehead, fighting to keep his mouth closed. He really doesn't need to promise to her that he will take her to see Wicked every damned time she wants, or that her father is a clueless prick.

Such cheesiness is reserved for the likes of Stefan Salvatore alone. He is only able to switch subject and assure her that she would probably love the opera.

**THURSDAY**

It's the first day Damon awakes without the urge to beg for a blow job and he mentally pats himself on the back for that.

They go to some art exhibition in Brooklyn with Carla, a particularly chatty and opinionated new friend of Bonnie's, and her nerdy-looking boyfriend Steve. Even if Damon doesn't particularly care for expressionism or their company, his witch's carefree disposition rubs off him somehow.

He had forgotten how easy and natural Bonnie made being a friend appear, creating human connections all around her.

He had forgotten how this was one of the reasons he adored her.

They end the evening with an improvised dinner at a shabby Thai restaurant, and it's when Bonnie slides her hand under the table to squeeze his, fingers so casually entwining together, that Damon realizes this is one of the best days he has spent in years.

**FRIDAY**

He takes her out for dancing, and it's a normal night in a normal jazz club, with far too light drinks, some colorful tales of his adventures during prohibitionist era and a lot of laughter.

It's as he notices the admiration reflected in her green eyes that he finally looks back and questions if all of his years spent waiting for Katherine were saturated with misery because he had made them this way. He had had some good moments… but he had always chosen to focus on what he lacked instead of what he had gained. He had cultivated his suffering and his hate as a gift to Katherine, and he had poisoned and butchered every fleeting instant of enjoyment with passionate determination as a result.

He experiences the most puzzling impulse to tell all of this to Bonnie, to expose every other secret and scar he can remember to her care. He doesn't, but he holds her tighter as they dance slowly to the music and breathes in her scent like she is the only thing that matters.

**SATURDAY**

Saturday is hard – they go shopping to redecorate their apartment, and spend every single hour bickering on what they want to keep the same or change, buy or discard.

When they come back home, Damon is really, really sorry that they can't exorcise all this frustration the old-fashioned way, because his whole body twitches with irritation.

He has been fairly tempted to throttle her all day long, but he is still quite certain nailing her against the wall would be so much more satisfying.

Angry sex undid knots you didn't even know existed – he remembers that with painful clarity.

Damon settles for rubbing her sore feet as they watch 'Notorious' – his turn for movie picking, finally!- and is fairly offended when she falls asleep in the middle of it. He is tempted to shake her awake, but he resists and analyzes how young she looks in her sleep.

A soft ache in his chest accompanies the unpleasant and unwanted mental image of her aging, and the uncomfortable question of where this relationship is going.

Regardless of how her personal opinion on vampirism has improved over time, he knows only too well that Bonnie has no intention of becoming a vampire herself. The thought of forcing her turn is right where it has always been, in the back of his mind, but for the first time he perceives it as a violation of everything he loves about her.

And it's sad because he wants forever with her and she feels the same, but their nature won't ever allow them to have it.

Damon now very preferred that they had kept up with the mindless sex ; if they had done so, he could have continued to live in the illusion that the world just consisted of the two of them and that nothing would ever change it.

**SUNDAY**

The picnic in Central Park is her stupid idea, and he is moody and sulky all the morning over it.

"I know that sinister expression on your face," she sighs, lying down in the grass to better enjoy the sunlight's kisses on her skin. "What nefarious plot are you hatching now?"

Damon looks her over, her fragile human body in her pretty green sundress and the light in her jade eyes, her brown skin and the white blanket laid out between them, and he knows he is doing it again, the focusing on what he can't have versus what he has in his grasp. Yet, he can't stop wanting more.

"I want you to do a spell for me."

"Mmm, what else is new?" she smirks.

"Make an aging potion for me or something." He states it so clearly like it's something he has rehearsed inside his head again and again. She jumps at his request, not quite able to understand it.

"What?"

Damon shrugs, easily shaking off her surprise and leans a bit closer to her. "You're always saying that you won't be a vampire because you can't stand the thought of everything you've loved withering away. I can understand that, so you should understand why I'm asking."

"No," she sputters immediately. "No. Damon –you deserve better than that. You can't."

He rolls his eyes at her utter predictability. "I can and I can also ask someone else. There are plenty of witches around."

"You love your immortality! And your eternal youth! And… you can't mess with nature like that! An aging potion…there's no way to predict the consequences…and if you change your mind later on…"

"So make me an aging trinket. If I don't like outcome, I'll just take it off."

"But _why_?" She can't believe how calm and collected he is about this.

"You _know_ why Bonnie. Nearly two hundred years have been enough to see everything I had to see about the world, and I never had what I have now. I don't want more if it means I don't get a real shot to make it work with you. If you can't be eternally young with me, then I want a way to grow old with you. I don't want to head anywhere I can't follow you."

They are silent for a long time after that outburst, Bonnie staring at some spot above his right shoulder with grassy eyes and a tight mouth.

He waits it out, determined to out-stubborn her.

It does not matter how deeply his speech has moved her, Bonnie can't fight the feeling that it would be too risky to let him mess with nature, even vampiric nature at that. For all they know, to try forcing a vampire to age like a normal human might make him sick in a multitude of supernaturally horrific ways.

However she hates the idea of staying the same while all her friends and family get old and die, she also despises the concept of taking away Damon's eternal youth and exposing him to unfathomable risks. If there's a small voice in her head that whispers that if only Damon aged, they might marry and adopt children and have the life she had given up on them ever having, she silences it fast. It's not worth the price.

But maybe there was another solution, a nearly perfect compromise…

"I could spell a ring with eternal youth powers instead. So you would stay young and relatively healthy, and I would spare myself the blood cravings."

"Um, no."

"Why the hell not?"

"I know you, Bon-Bon. You would eventually convince yourself that I emotionally blackmailed you into this, and then I would never have any peace."

"Please," the witch scoffs, insulted, "Do you think I would have even suggested that if this was the first time I'd thought of it?"

"Yes!"

"Then you're _wrong_, moron. You don't get the exclusive right on making plans for our future!"

That word – _ours_- hits him hard in ways he can't begin to explain, to himself or to her.

"Really?"

"Really," she repeats less heatedly. "How can you even think otherwise? We've been together for three years. Of course I wondered-"

Damon cuts her off with a kiss. He takes her face between his hands and keeps kissing her until she can't remember her name. When she looks up at him, slightly out of breath, his eyes are a very lucid cobalt blue and full of feelings he will never need to explain.

"Maybe we should flip a coin," he suggests, clearing his throat.

"Jerk," Bonnie exhales affectionately, resting her cheek against the crook between his shoulder and neck.


	30. In Pursuit Of Happiness

**In Pursuit Of Happiness **

**Author: Sky Samuelle**

**Rating: PG**

**Ships: Bonnie/Damon **

**Summary:** Bonnie runs and Damon chases, and it makes for a remarkably Bamon Christmas.

**AN:** Written for the Bamon Drabble Party, **Prompt**: All Bonnie wants for Christmas is Damon.

* * *

It's Christmas Eve and the only gift Bonnie wants is to have Damon back.

Which, she will be the first one to admit, is both blindingly stupid and downright absurd for a number of reasons.

Reason one: she is not a Christian anymore, and regardless of how much Winter Solstice festivities and Christmas overlap in timeline, meaning, and celebration, she has virtually no reason to pick today to wish things went differently.

Reason two: he's too amoral, too exhausting for her. She is too narrow-minded, too infuriating for him. In short, they are all wrong for each other. But she ended up loving him and he ended up loving her, and it was just one big, unhappy accident.

Reason three: she doesn't really miss the twisted liaison she had with Damon _per se_. The year she has wasted sleeping with and screaming at him was possibly the worst of her life. She had started to see him clandestinely only because she felt angry and lonely and disconnected from the 'normal world' and he had been just as depressed, frustrated and worn with all the fruitless Elena-chasing. They had connected in a furious, very dark place of their souls, and when she put aside the mind-blowing, completely inhibition-free sex, there were truly no added benefits to being with Damon. Their time together was filled with screaming matches, clashes of wills, and more or less subtle insulting of each other until her eyes watered and his eyes flashed black. Being with Damon was painful and destructive except for those surreal moments when it was intimate and wonderful.

Reason 4: _Elena._ Even if Bonnie has never exactly perceived Elena as a concrete threat to her bond with Damon, there's no forgetting that Damon used to use nearly every chance he had to make Bonnie feel like second best on purpose. He used to revel in having the power of making the witch angry and hurt when they affair was unofficial, and after Stefan and Elena finally found out everything, Damon liked to use their relationship to rile up her best friend. It didn't matter that Damon wanted or loved Elena for reasons that tied back to his need to self-destruct. It did not matter that Bonnie saw and understood this, because during that year of fucking him and talking him off the edge of insanity, they had basically breathed each other in. They know each other like the back of their hand. It does not mean that Bonnie has any illusions about saving the older Salvatore from himself.

Reason 5: she doesn't like herself much when she interacts with Damon in any kind of way. He makes her too angry, too raw, too exposed and too damn slutty. She used to hate how easily it came, to be mean to him, to fight him with words and spells and the purposeful stirring of lust. Everything between them became a battle or a competition. With Damon, she was sharply cutting, jaded and womanly where all Bonnie wants to be is the soft, innocent girl vampires tore apart ages ago.

Reason 6: _she_ is the one who broke up with him. Bonnie was at a point where she was sick and tired of putting up with his crap, of hurting him and of being hurt by him. She was getting annoyed at being forced to keep their relationship separate from the dysfunctional triangle involving the Salvatore brothers and her best friend. Although she had no lasting resentment toward Damon, she had realized she was ready for something different finally. She was ready to be happy again, and regardless of whatever affection they had for each other, he was not going to ever give her what she deserved.

Reason 7: he's a vampire, and he's headed toward a virtual eternity unless his trigger happy, reckless ways get him killed first. She is not.

Reason 8: Damon is the most high-maintenance boyfriend she has ever had. Keeping up with him drained away both most of her time and most of her energy.

She can do better than Damon. She should _want_ better than Damon. She can't waste her life trying to mend him where he does not want to be mended. All of this reasoning makes sense.

Missing Damon Salvatore is therefore irrational.

But she misses him all the same. His expressive face, his hands and lips. His smartass comments, his too intense eyes and his low key chivalry. The small ways he took care of her, making her feel so cherished, the way he was always listening to anything she had to say and the way he fought to draw out what she could not or didn't want to say.

Damon is her twin _and_ natural enemy: nobody will ever know her as well or as deeply, and although this is not necessarily a bad thing, without him Bonnie feels lonely.

This too makes no sense and all the sense in the world at the same time.

She all but ran from Mystic Falls to meet Lucy in Cabo two weeks ago so they could prepare together for the Winter Solstice celebrations. Lucy is good company and a very flexible teacher in the craft - plus, practicing along with another witch is always exhilarating. And though sandy beaches and spas weren't the most stereotypical locations for this time of the year, they are just what Bonnie has been craving.

At least until she comes back to the hotel suite she shares with Lucy (the hotel owner is a _'family friend'_ ad warlock, so she and her cousin are getting both free hospitality and special treatment) to find a familiar vampire sprawled on her king sized bed.

"Damon? What a hell?"

It's not her most articulate, brilliant response to one of his stunts, but she is truly too shocked to be eloquent.

His poker face, naturally, doesn't even waver. This is something she deeply resents.

"Hello, Bonnie."

"What are you doing here?" she frowns, eyes darting around for any trace of her older cousin.

"Lucy called me."

Bonnie's frown deepens. "She would _never_ do that."

Damon's lopsided smirk grows, the smugness of it belying the weariness that hides behind his pale eyes, and it's a perfectly silent version of 'she did' that sparks a bit of nostalgia in her very bones. Non-verbal communication was always _their thing_.

"She thought we needed to work out our issues before you _imploded_ from too much brooding."

The young witch snorts, shaking her head and slipping out of her jacket. "Are you really trying to get me to buy that you came all this way to ease my cousin's _supposed_ concerns? It's not quite the style you're known for."

Damon's gaze hardens on her figure as he slides fluidly off the bed and stands, and his expression is now stiff but determined.

"I came to bring you back."

Bonnie smiles a bit too sweetly and asks with the same deceptive mellowness, "What has Elena gotten herself into now?"

Damon looks confused for a couple of seconds at her abrupt change of tone until the implication in her words catches up with him. It's not exactly a mystery that lately her life revolves around rescuing Gilberts or Salvatores from whichever mess they are involved in via magical means. It used to be one among many favorite accusations she sprang on him during their endless, hurtful squabbling.

Damon's lips press together, thinning in annoyance at the memory, a coked eyebrow rising in admonition all directed at her for daring to bring up old discords at a time when he doesn't feel like owning up to them.

"This has nothing to do with Elena…your place is not here."

"Really? Care to explain where my place is exactly? In your back pocket whenever you need some 'incompetent spell working'?"

Here it is, the pattern repeating. Old accusations and salt freshly rubbed on gaping wounds. She hates herself a bit for being neither cool nor harsh enough to fly the inopportune visitor out of her window, but she is just so angry at his presence in her safe haven and even angrier at Lucy for setting her up like this.

"Lucy says you had not set a date to travel back… that maybe you were thinking of staying," Damon insists, voice heated despite his effort to play it cool. "Is that true?"

Bonnie is momentarily shocked that Lucy picked up on that without giving away her hand.

"How is this any of your business?" she snaps, more defensive than she would like.

"Because _you_ are my business!" he snaps right back, on a growling, aggressive note that makes her heart flutter stupidly.

"Since _when_?"

"Don't play with me!"

In a heartbeat, he is in her face, hands grasping her elbows tightly enough to hurt a little but not tightly enough to bruise. She retaliates with the usual burst of painful aneurisms, but he has grown used to them enough to resist, so his hold doesn't waver even as his gaze gets unfocused for a few seconds.

"Don't manhandle me," she spits through gritted teeth. "And don't you dare yell in my face like I'm a dog to be punished into submission!"

And then she is shoving him far away from her telekinetically, smug dark satisfaction rising inside her at the loud smacking of his back against the wall.

Damon groans in pain at the violence of the impact, or maybe it's some other emotion mingled with it, because by the next moment he is on his feet again, licking his lips and glaring at her the way he usually does when he is thinking something very filthy.

Bonnie can suddenly see with uncomfortable clarity where this is heading – the usual anguishing place with no clothes, no boundaries, and sweaty bodies rolling on the floor.

It makes her feel entrapped, unable to breathe where once all she felt was the desire to come alive underneath him.

"You need to leave. I'm not doing this with you again, and I won't be bullied into it just because you're horny or bored. Go back to Elena and your stupid love triangle; I've had enough of it."

She breathes out, shaking herself out of that feeling.

"I came after you because I _want _you, Bonnie. Is that not enough?" he replies, sounding and looking so exasperated that it coaxes a bitter chuckle out of her throat because, face it, it's just like Damon to expect miracles from such a tiny token of sincerity.

"Of course it's not. Have I not told you before that I wanted something more than this?"

"You told me you wanted to be happy," he shrugs. "I can recall a few occasions where I made you _spectacularly_ happy."

Bonnie rolls her eyes, unimpressed at his so called wit. "Not everything is about sex, Damon. I want the kind of happiness that lasts past afterglow, and a healthy relationship where I don't need to scream or cry half of the time."

"So? We can have that if we want to."

This actually surprises her, just as the purposeful casualty in the vampire's tone does, and the witch's green eyes narrow sharply on his visage, looking hard for clues of deceit and finding none.

It's worrisome since Damon has the bad habit of sincerely meaning any sentimental stuff he says half-seriously.

He starts to swagger close to her again, and Bonnie knows she needs to come up with some strategic line of defense fast, because hope is dangerous and she had locked the door on it where he's concerned with the steady determination to never open it again.

"I want to be more than second best for the man I am with," she clarifies, holding her chin proudly up and challenging him to contradict her with a frosty glare.

"I don't chase all the way to California for a convenient fuck, Bonnie," Damon smiles, cups her cheek just to smile a bit more affectionately when his hand is snootily swatted away.

"I think you know you're not the kind of girl to be a consolation prize. Not for me, anyway. You always seemed a bit more aware of it than I would have _liked_."

Alarm bells go of inside Bonnie's head: she can feel something inside melting a little at how earnest he looks, and she should know better than that by now.

_DON'T DARE FALL FOR IT! _- she mentally threatens the small, vulnerable part of herself that is still a hopeless romantic .

Words are just words, and the heart will believe what it wants to be true, but – as Grams used to say- wishing that dragons are real won't make them so.

"Talking is cheap – what good is it to me that if you feel that way and act the opposite? Do you _care_ about me? _Prove_ it."

Damon's expression shamelessly lights up at the prospective of a challenge and that's just one more reason that has her itching to slap him until his flawlessly pale cheeks turn a purplish blue.

"How so?" he inquires, leaning forward so he is invading her personal space even more than he already was and managing to imbue those two words with an impossible amount of sleazy sexual innuendo.

"Leave," she smirks, pleased at how fast his mask of bravado slips with that one command from her lips. "And then when I come back, you can woo me."

Damon blinks at her like his brain is experiencing a grave difficulty to make sense of what he has just heard.

"_Woo _you?" he repeats slowly, nearly expecting that there's some particularly contrived double meaning behind those two words.

"It's what you call it when you are working up to sleeping with someone while treating them with respect. I'm sure Stefan can give you some pointers."

The mention of his brother's name predictably shocks the vampire out of his daze, or maybe it's just a conditioned response that has Damon's whole face darkening in disgust. It's hard to tell the difference.

Either way, Bonnie saunters smoothly off to the door and holds it open for her unmoving, scowling guest: "I'll see you in a few days."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Damon insists, staying stubbornly rooted right where he is.

"Not at all. You should be grateful for the head start, because I have no intention of making it easy for you."

"When have you ever?" the vampire sighs with a curious absence of hostility.

He studies her for a while, weighing his options and taking in every inch of her face suspiciously, mentally calculating how much of a chance there was that the witch is lying just to buy herself the time to disappear from his life for good. In the end, he decides that running was never much Bonnie Bennett's style, if only because she is a stubborn, proud-to-the-point- of-imbecility little thing.

"Fine," he concedes grumpily, speeds up to be right in front of her in a flash, and adds, more cockily and way too close to her ear, "Bring it on, little witch."

And then he is gone, leaving Bonnie to wonder if she has not just gotten herself into an ever bigger mess.

Be that as it may, that phantom ache in her chest is gone now. Maybe Lucy deserves a thank you, after all.


	31. Daughter Of The Storm

Title: **DAUGHTER OF THE STORM**  
Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries  
Characters: Bonnie/Damon, Sheila  
Warnings/Spoilers: None definite, but it takes for granted canon up to 2.11  
Summary: Written for **thewitchgoddess** weekly prompt challenge: "I'm only happy when it rains". Bonnie has a peculiar bond with rain and storms.

Disclaimer: All character belong to L.J Smith

* * *

Bonnie has _always_ loved rain.

She remembers loving the sounds of it when she was a kid, the scents of wet grass and wet soil. She used to look out the window mesmerized when a storm broke… fascinated by the beautiful play of bright lightning bolts against the dark clouds and the mumbling sound of thunder. Grams would stand behind her at the window, and stroke her air gently with her mysterious I-know-something-you-don't smile.

"Isn't it beautiful, baby? Storms are like a dance between shadow and light, music and silence, violence and grace."

And little Bonnie would nod, admiring the quiet power that emanated from her grandmother in those moments – a power she could not yet comprehend but that made the young girl feel safe, loved, and enveloped in a sense of belonging.

It rained when Bonnie woke up a morning to have her dad explain over breakfast that her mother had left to never return. Bonnie could not understand why her mother would never come home again. Was it something she had done? Surely she could be good, be better and mom would come back, because they were a family. Would mom not miss them too much if she never saw any of them again?

Even at a very naïve age of seven years old, Bonnie was very inquisitive and just as persistent as she is at seventeen. If her dad eventually snapped at her, it was after long and exhausting attempts to get her tiny self to relent with the literally incessant questioning.

Bonnie didn't shed a single tear. She just stared up at her father with huge, lucid green eyes … and then she turned around , walked calmly back to her room, where she would sit in a stony silence, little arms wrapped around her knees, staring ahead until a hushed mingling of voices would precede Grams ' distinctive steps coming in.

The rain was loud outside and it was soothing in some unexplainable way. The sky cried those tears Bonnie could not free.

"Let it out, Bonnie. Come on. I'm here. I'm never going away."

Grams' slender fingers pried Bonnie's curled hands off her knees before her arms scooped her in her lap… there were more words whose sound Bonnie could not understand even while she knew those words were love. That love broke through walls and dams to let the tears out.

As Bonnie sobbed into Sheila's embrace, the rainstorm calmed and then ceased to be.

* * *

Having a grand Mystic Falls social soiree ruined by supernatural menaces is hardly a novelty.

Having a screaming match with Damon over the desert rooftop she has forcefully dragged him to in order to 'have a talk' is not surprising either. Fighting and arguing is all they have ever done, from the moment they met, and Bonnie always finds his ways of dealing with a crisis disagreeable at best.

"I don't know what you want from me!"

The way he invades her personal space, advancing on her until his lips hover on her nose, the blazing of his blue eyes so focused on hers, the way her whole body tenses up in response are not new neither.

"I want you to stop and realize that the pain you inflict on other people is just as real as yours! The lives you destroy matter!"

"You know what, little witch?" he spits, like his nickname for her has always been the foulest insult. "If you spent less time on your high horse, believing the world should be just as perfect as you are, maybe you would find someone willing to put up with your…stuck-up frigidity!"

This is what is new: the way she wants just to break and cry when he says things like that. They are not friends, and Damon is the kind of guy who goes straight for the jugular when he feels 'on the spot.' She should be used to it. She shouldn't expect anything different from it.

But she is just so tired of failing. As a daughter, as a witch… but mostly, as a woman. For some reason she refuses to recognize, it hurts all the more when it's _Damon_ bringing up those humbling failures.

It does not make sense, but it breaks her in a multitude of indefinable ways to think he might notice how pathetic her love life has been so far… that he might think her unworthy to hold onto a man's interest long enough to have the love Elena and Caroline reap so effortlessly.

There's one freakishly long moment of silence where she just stares at him, betrayal clear in her eyes like he has just broken some silently agreed upon rule, and he stands just as frozen, anger draining from his expression as he takes hers in.

She uses that silence to bottle up the hurt and the humiliation because she would prefer to _die_ than cry in front of _him._

"Fuck you, Damon! I have_ no idea_ of why I still bother! You never learn!"

Bonnie walks away, leave him there like the fool he is and deserves to be treated as.

But the ache, the longing to cry stays at the bottom of her heart, stifled and unexpressed until raindrops start falling from above… copiously. It's raining furiously but she is not rushing inside, just stopping to look up at the darkening sky.

_I'm so fucked up_ – the witch thinks, and then she senses Damon close behind her.

"I was out of line," he says, voice rough and eyes downcast like a child.

Bonnie knows perfectly well she should _not_ be mollified, but she is. "You were," she replies icily anyway, because she likes to think she still has a dignity to protect.

"I'm sorry," the vampire adds, and he sounds so serious, so earnest and it shocks her so much that she can only blink and gaze open-mouthed at the anomaly he represents.

"O-kay," she states warily, more to herself than to him, and she notices they are both getting drenched under the water, but neither is moving and it's _awkward_, at least on her side.

Yet it's a bit funny the way his hair looks, all wet and plastered down the sides of his head.

When Damon leans in swiftly and brushes his lips against hers in a lingering peck, the raining doubles over, but Bonnie's attention is definitely _not on that_.

He draws back with a speculative expression, drinking in approvingly the dumbfounded look on her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you."

"_Why?"_

"I _wanted_ to."

Bonnie is suddenly certain that being attracted to someone so aggravating needs to be a symptom of deteriorating sanity.

"You are an idiot."

She shakes her head, not really as resentful or disdainful as she is striving to appear.

"You are beautiful when _you are_ _all wet_."

Shivering inwardly at the very vulgar double entendre, Bonnie glares sideways at his shoulder, murderously so, before turning her back on him and striding back inside the building. Damon trails happily behind her, a practically feline grin on his still tingling lips.

Neither has noticed that the raining abruptly stopped somewhere along the way.

* * *

It's many months after that episode that Damon has the chance to realize that storms – real storms, not the kind magically induced by unstable witchy emotions –make his girlfriend particularly energetic.

Bonnie roughly pushes him against the library of the Salvatores' Boarding House, pressing her body confidently against his and he can only smirk and pull her closer, his arms winding around her waist as desire washes through him.

"Storms make you horny. I like it."

A strange memory rushes through the young witch's mind then: her grandmother's soft voice speaking low from childhood days long time gone:

_Isn't it beautiful, baby? Storms are like a dance between shadow and light, music and silence, violence and grace._

She looks deep into the mischievous blue of Damon's eyes, fisting his shirt instinctively.

Damon _is_ like a storm – or maybe he is just _the_ storm that has wrecked her life and left nothing unaltered. But he is mesmerizing, beautiful in his own fucked up way and she is fascinated by his contradictions and contrasts nonetheless.

Bonnie brushes a secretive smile against the hollow of his throat.

_A dance between shadow and light, music and silence, violence and grace._

Apparently, that definition sums up her life's history pretty well too. Maybe it's the reason she and Damon fit together, like two sides of the same coin, despite the contrary odds.

**AN:** Hold on. 'In Pursuit Of Happiness' will have its whorty sequel but there's another prompt in line before I can focus on it.


	32. Shatter part 1 of 2

Title: **SHATTER**  
Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries  
Ship: Bonnie/Damon,  
Warnings/Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2. Warning for sexual situations ahead.  
**AN**: Written for **THE FIVE ACTS MEME- ROUND 3- ****Sleep and bedding themes** (sharing a bed by necessity such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; accidental spooning, sex while drowsy; sex as a sleep aid; arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep).

**Summary:** Bonnie and Damon are forced to share the same motel room during a quite distressing roadtrip. The results are… _interesting_ to say the least. And dirty.

**AN2:** This is probably the filthiest thing I've written in long, long time. So be gentle.

* * *

One predicament Bonnie Bennett has always steadfastly believed she would _never_ find herself in is being on a roadtrip with Damon Salvatore, _alone. _That was a misfortune reserved for Elena, Stefan, Alaric, and whoever else managed to stand putting up with his crap.

Bonnie has never had much patience for him or his compulsive liar/sleazy asshole/murdering psycho antics.

Even now that she can no longer define him as her enemy, after all the times they had each other's backs in what she remembers as 'The Klaus Ordeal', she would never mistake him for a friend.

The old resentment and loathing are gone, swept away by time, new habits, and a deeper understanding of how his head works… but there's a wariness that still lingers on her end, stopping her from calling their truce as anything other than what it is.

There's no amicability in their relationship, and often she thinks there never will be. Every single time the older Salvatore enters a room, her body responds, tensing in an awareness the witch doesn't entirely understand. Her senses, around him, are constantly on alert – warning her to pay attention to the slightest shifts in his demeanor. It's not _only _the reaction of a witch in the presence of a possible threat … it's also the basic response of female to male, because Damon projects his sexuality to the outside world in a way that is almost animalistic and entirely intentional. It's just another weapon in his arsenal, and yet another reason to dislike him whole-heartedly.

He is a master manipulator, a liar, a cheat, a murderer, and a male slut- basically the last person Bonnie would wish to depend on for her safety.

But-story of her life- she gets no choice in the matter.

Her powers have been behaving erratically since about last month –going on overdrive at the slightest provocation and then leaving her drained of any energy and virtually defenseless for days. Coincidentally, someone has also been sending bizarre, magically created beasts to kill her. In other words, someone has probably placed a curse on her in order to weaken her long enough to kill her. Bonnie has no idea why since every Bennett witch she knows has apparently gone into hiding. And since this mess presents itself as a family matter and Damon claims to have a past as a protector of her bloodline… he might be the only one able to help her track the current matron of her clan, a distant cousin to Grams Bonnie has never met.

So, for the past two weeks Bonnie and Damon have been traipsing all across the country in his car, trying to find out where the hell Sage Bennett and her daughters have holed themselves.

All while dodging attacks from before-mentioned monstrous creatures and bickering in their spare time.

Bonnie is already exhausted whereas Damon –probably only appearing so just to be contrary- looks like he is having the time of his life.

And if she thought she was in trouble in the beginning when he wrung a promise out of her that, if he did this for her, she would 'owe him one'… she understands she had not fully evaluated the risks of their arrangement until the night they are struck sharing the last free room in a low class motel. No other option available since the dreadful place is the only one available for miles – at least if they want to avoid wasting time by abandoning the interstate 285th South.

It's such a cliché that it feels unreal, even while Bonnie lays down on the king sized bed, reclining on her side and staring at the wall sightlessly, too focused on the sounds of Damon showering in the adjoining little bathroom to even entertain full, coherent lines of reasoning.

_This is going to be so awkward and embarrassing._ –she thinks, feeling very naked despite her habit of sleeping in yoga pants and an oversized Nightwish shirt.

The truth is that her attire makes her feel very much like a little girl, whereas she needs to approach this situation with a woman's cool-headedness and maturity.

It's not the first time they have shared a room – there were days when her powers were off, and he needed to be close by in case she was attacked overnight- but this is the very first time they are going to be forced to share _one_ _bed_.

Damon being Damon made fun of her embarrassment already on the way up from the reception, so the last thing she wants is to give the asshole one more reason to act even more like a worldly, collected dickhead forced to deal with a neurotic, uptight girl.

She needs to stay and… not hyperventilate.

Take small, regular breaths. Inhale, exhale. It's not like he is going to bite her as she sleeps.

The trick actually works until the bathroom door suddenly opens and Damon saunters out, singing under his breath, clad in only a towel that hangs dangerously low on his protruding hipbones. He grabs his boxers from his bag and then whisks back to the bathroom, seemingly ignoring her. Bonnie knows better than to buy his act. Everything is a show with Damon Salvatore, and he terribly enjoys being the protagonist of every act. He would never let pass a chance to make her uncomfortable.

As a matter of fact, he left the door open and now she can hear everything…the rustling and the moving as he towels his hair and dresses for the night.

Annoyed, Bonnie uses telekinesis to slam the offending door shut, even knowing that he is probably going to laugh at her uptightness again on the other side of it.

She doesn't care, obviously, but this doesn't make it any easier for her to just relax, close her eyes, and sleep. When she tries, the image of Damon's bare-chested body haunts her from behind closed lids, pale and flawlessly toned like it was sculpted from marble, not flammable flesh. It's truly a shame someone so outwardly beautiful is also such a mess on the inside.

She is still pretending to be asleep when he returns, turns off the lights and climbs on the bed.

Bonnie's heart almost stops when his weight sinks the mattress, and she bites the inside of her cheek, hoping against all hope he is not listening to her increasing heartbeat.

But if Damon notices she is awake, he doesn't say anything about it. Minutes elapse and she can't neither move nor relax, only to stay there frozen in a fetal position.

She is just too fucking _aware_ of his presence, of the distance between his body and hers, of every passing second in this too heavy silence.

Damon drags himself closer so there's only few inches separating them, and she can both feel and hear his breath on her hair. It is so weird to reason that he is technically dead but still breathing…

His proximity makes her skin itch, and her limbs ache to twist away. There's that weird tension in her body again, like she is under attack and preparing to fight back, and as the familiar heat spreads from her tingling nerves to her skin she wonders if he feels it too, or if it's always been a one-sided thing…possibly a witch thing. She would prefer that, because it would make it justifiable, nearly easy to manage.

At last she gives up and stops pretending, rolls around so they are face to face just to be startled when her visage is so much closer to his than she expected. Instinct would have her retreating but Damon's arm shoots out and his hand closes firmly around her elbow, keeping her in place.

His eyes are blue and predatory, unwaveringly focused on hers, and they transmit something very primal to her very core. She can't look away.

For a while they stay like that, just looking at each other, into each other, his palm cool on her warming skin.

He is too close, and Bonnie both hates it and wants more of it. Mostly, she needs to understand that this is once and for all, and she is impatient but scared shitless too, so she doesn't move.

At least until the vampire cups her cheek, long fingers caressing her skin softly like they were studying its texture.

It's a token of affection she often received from Jeremy in the past when they were an item, but whereas Jeremy's touch used to warm, Damon's _burns._

It makes her uncomfortable, to know his vampire eyes can see perfectly well in this darkness whereas her human ones can't, and she has no idea what he is finding reflected on her face, because she, right here and now, doesn't know her heart at all. She supposes she could flip the lights on with her power if she wanted to, but uncertainty is making a coward out of her.

She feels weak and brittle and afraid of knowing what feeling she would find on _his_ face. Darkness is the last protection she has left.

Damon gently smoothes her wayward curls away from her temple, then cups her nape and rubs his mouth against hers, pushing his tongue between her lips greedily when he finds her compliant to his kisses.

Bonnie moans, a needful, shaken sound that rips from the back of her throat, surprising her.

She tries to make up for it, sucking hard on Damon's tongue, giving back as good as she receives.

Everything in her body opens up and burns, and she is not herself anymore. Her arms wrap around lean bare shoulders – Damon sleeps in boxers and nothing else, she has learned- and her breasts flatten against his chest while he hovers between her spread legs, his hardness brushing against her hip.

Bonnie literally springs away from him as she realizes where this is going, half-terrified of her body's unannounced but complete betrayal, half-angry at the sudden loss of bodily contact.

"Get off me!" she gasps, frantically disentangling her limbs from his and he exerts no effort to oppose her.

"Oh my god," she breathes out raggedly, hiding her face between her hands.

This is nothing like it's supposed to be. It was just a kiss, but it felt like sex and now her loins ache sweetly, the sticky wetness between her thighs unmistakable for anything other than what it is: arousal.

She is unprepared for the fingers that thread through her hair in a misplaced attempt to soothe.

"Easy here, kitten."

Even his voice sounds husky, not quite as smoothly seductive as he is trying to make it, and her sex clenches in response, demanding attention.

"Don't touch me-" she shoves him away from her by his shoulder, wanting desperately to purge herself of those uncomfortable emotions that transform her into a stranger to herself.

Damon huffs audibly in a way that has her imagining him as he rolls his eyes at her stubbornness and in a blink and blur of motion, the witch finds herself with her back pressed to the mattress, her wrists pinned above her head by one his hands.

"Say that when the scent of your soaked pussy _isn't_ fogging up the room. You might actually be credible," he drawls, his free hand diving under her shirt to stroke her stomach. Everywhere his palm meets her skin is sparks and sensory overload.

"I will set you on fire!" she promises harshly, thrashing under his larger frame and hearing the menace in her own voice makes the damp heat between her legs flare higher. Another sure sign that this is going to get very wrong, very fast if she is not careful, but even that foreboding thought ignites her with hunger.

"Do it," he commands, far too nonchalant for her liking. "Give me an aneurism, throw me across the room. You're a witch: _fight_ me for real. _Make _me to stop."

His hand creeps up and cups her braless breast, kneading slowly before thumb and forefinger squeeze a large nipple, trace the outline of it from the areola to the tip, waiting to feel it puckering and tautening to squeeze once more.

Her back arches into his touch and she feels it again, the inner fire licking at her skin, taking her breath away and filling her with a trembling need to lose herself to the flames.

"You won't stop me," the vampire continued in a cocky purr, leaving her hands free so he could help her out of her shirt. "In fact, I bet you'll allow me to do _anything_ I like to you, because the truth is…"

Goosebumps break over her bare skin as the air hits her chest, and she closes her eyes against the caresses that soon cover her over-sensitized breasts. "…you've denied this long enough."

"I don't like you," she protests stubbornly, despite knowing the truth is far more complicated than that. On some accounts she despises him, on other accounts she envies him, but on still a few others… she _needs_ him. Hard as it is to admit, it's true.

"My naïve little witch. So willful…"Damon chuckles, lowering himself so he can flick his tongue over her sternum, tasting the valley between her tits before licking his way up to her throat.

"So strong," he murmurs, nipping at her jaw. "So combative especially when it comes to me, to keep me in line like a good little soldier…"

"Nobody else will do it," Bonnie whispers her tone just as low, and for a moment it feels like they are trading secrets. She grinds her hips against his, crying out at the feeling of his erection coming to nestle between her open legs.

The desire of touching him is almost painful now, and she holds on his shoulders, her nails digging in the smooth, beautiful flesh remorselessly so she can grind harder, groan louder.

"Does this scare you, Bonnie?" his voice is a gravelly verbal caress that echoes in the darkness of the room to fall on her soul, and it's a strange dichotomy, the way his words imprint in her mind while his touch brands itself on her body just as strongly. "Aren't you terrified that someday you might forget where the boundaries are and have nobody to bring you back from the edge? Who will keep _you_ in check while you keep everyone else?"

His head dips down and his mouth fastens around her nipple, sucking alternatively hard and soft, and for some stretch of time she loses her mind, blanking out under a wave of pleasure.

Then she smiles drowsily. "I have you," she finally admits. "As long as you keep fucking up, I remember who I am."

It's liberating to ultimately own up to it. As the day is defined by the night's very existence, Damon's presence in her life keeps her remembering the difference between right and wrong, even while her power keeps growing and becomes more addictive. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, they say, but when Damon is here, she can play the light to his shadow.

"Don't I deserve a thank you for that?" he suggests allusively, starting to push her yoga pants down her legs.

"Maybe..." she trails off, spreading herself wide in invitation once the pants are off and thrown carelessly on the floor.

Soon Damon is on her again, crushing his lips to hers demandingly, taking her visage between his hands as he starts to kiss her deeply. She kisses him back with all the fury she has never gotten to express and all the relief of having finally found someone who understands.

It's inconvenient as hell that this is happening with _him _of all people, but the one thing that truly matters is that she no longer feels that sense of inherent separation and solitude she has been getting used to during last two years.

She is not surprised at the ripping sound that precedes the feeling of her underwear being torn away or the immediate rolling of her hips against his probing hand.

There's no hesitation in his touch, no shame in her heart. It should be shocking that she is allowing him to even graze her most intimate parts, but this intimacy feels just so natural, effortless.

Bonnie gasps as two of his fingers sink inside, and curl there like they are testing her. Her slick walls flutter around those invading elements and Bonnie can't help pressing her thighs together, entrapping them, increasing the friction.

Damon smiles against her cheek, dropping an open-mouthed kiss there.

"Someone is eager…" he teases, a purring note behind the smugness of his tone.

"Someone else is a son of a bitch," she singsongs with far less causticity than she's used to in dealing with this vampire, hips bucking as she grinds purposefully down on his fingers.

He caresses her slit with his thumb, growling at her wetness with a beastly edge that makes it truly, truly hard for her to not cum right there.

And then he gets his fingers out of her cunt and puts them deep inside his mouth, sucking her juices with a transparent enjoyment of himself that manages to be equally arousing and disturbing for anyone watching on, _namely her_.

It was another of those moments where her brain blanked out. Her whole body hums with delight and lust, and she knows it must show right through her expression from the very sinister light that burns behind his gaze.

"Turn around now, please," Damon slurs, accompanying the request with an overtly dramatic sweep of his hand.

She wonders what is most incredible – what he is actually asking, even if in a mocking way or that she is actually complying with his request without adding a word.

Yet here she is ass up in the air as she braces herself on her elbows without even having the decency to feel demeaned or belittled.

Damon runs his cool palms over her buttocks, a sort of possessive gentleness coming through his lingering touch. The witch sways at the contact and renewed intensity of her desire. She has never considered it was even possible to be drunk on lust until this very instant, but that's exactly how she feels. He grips her waist to steady her, sneaks his hand beneath the soft curves of her ass to roughly cup her cunt.

Clutching blindly at the sheets, Bonnie leans back into his hands, hissing as she receives a swift slap on her ass for her trouble.

"Don't push it, Salvatore," she warns, despite the pretty humiliating certainty that she is wound up so tight that she would do virtually anything for release right now.

"Hush, babe," the vampire growls, not without a certain reluctant affection. "I promise you, trusting me here won't kill you. Not _literally_ anyway."

"Will you stop with the nicknaming? I find it so-" _aggravating,_ she wants to say, but she doesn't get to finish the phrase. "-Oh! "

Fingertips press on engorged nub, stroking it right the way she needed, and it feels like heaven.

Bonnie bites on her bottom lip, swallowing a particularly needy whimper and her vision clouds: she is so damn close!

When he asks, "Would you like to come for me right now?" in a perfectly polite, impossibly serious intonation, it doesn't even occur to her to laugh in his face. The softly panted, "Yes," is out of her mouth before she realizes the absurdity of it.

"Good girl," Damon nods, and she has no time to complain because his wonderfully talented fingers are quitting their lazy, eye-watering circles on her clit to part her wet folds.

His thumb trails indolently up and down between the cheeks of her butt, causing her to wriggle helplessly. Having him touch her _there_ is not entirely unpleasant, she decides, just very strange and well…not something she has experienced before,_ ever_.

The witch grows completely still as she feels his touch linger a bit too long over her anus. Her glassy eyes unfocused ahead, gasping while the vampire rhythmically strokes both her openings.

She finds herself rocking in synch with him, enjoying the sensual torment he is inflicting on her.

Later, thinking back to this moment, the witch will be surprised that she was so comfortable with him their first time together.

Now there's just an unfinished, terrible pleasure, hovering her over the brink of completion.

"This," Damon tells her with imperious quietness, increasing the pressure on her slit and her asshole at the same time, "is mine from today on. Don't forget."

The words don't fully register within the haze of her mind, but they leave her shaking inside nonetheless, lost and pleased, cherished and frightened.

It's so profoundly disconcerting, when his fingers thrust inside her roughly. Her body tenses at the double invasion but she can't think at all, just feel. Feel _Damon_ reach deep into a place of her body nobody else has ever claimed. Feel _Damon_ fuck her so deeply she can imagine feeling him in her belly. Feel _Damon's_ hushed endearments lull her into ecstasy.

Feel _Damon's_ lips and tongue on the small of her back, suckling on her sweaty, burning skin.

Feel _Damon's_ fangs on her thigh when he kneels down, still double-penetrating her relentlessly at an even deeper angle.

His bite adds a pain that brings this madness to its blinding completion, and as his canines sink into her flesh and her blood slides down his throat she can feel him _everywhere_. In and out of her, Damon is there –a divine violation that shatters everything she has been so far into a thousand pieces.

Shaking, she becomes aware of everything again in his arms, cradled tenderly in his lap like a beloved child. They are sitting in the middle of the bed and his cock is hard against her stomach.

Bonnie takes him in her hand, drinks in Damon's sounds of satisfaction as she works him, smirks at his growl of disappointment when she abruptly stops. Kissing him sloppily, she feels like she fell in a trance. She holds onto his shoulders and impales herself on his dick slowly, loving his bruising grip on her hips.

Here it is again, the rapturous darkness that spreads from her blood to her soul. Pleasure and pain. _Love. _

A love she can't explain or fear, but just experience.

Damon pulls her tighter to his chest, calls her 'the most beautiful, filthy little thing' he has ever seen.

Fleetingly, she wonders if he even understands that what they just did is irreversible. It will change everything they know, with no chance of ever going back – she sees it clearly now, with a witch's insight.

They breathe in shaky fragments as unwanted images of possible distant futures form behind her closed eyelids.

When she catches Damon's face between her hands, she forgets fearing what they might become together.

She lets her telekinetic power reach out and switch on the floor lamp close to the closet.

A dim, violet light casts its eerie glow over the bedroom and at last, Bonnie can look into his features while she rides him. She likes what she sees.


	33. Shatter part 2 0f 2

**Shatter- part two**

Title: **SHATTER**  
Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries  
Ship: Bonnie/Damon,  
Warnings/Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2. Warning for sexual situations ahead.  
**AN**: Written for **THE FIVE ACTS MEME- ROUND 3- ****Sleep and bedding themes** (sharing a bed by necessity such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; accidental spooning, sex while drowsy; sex as a sleep aid; arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep).

**Summary:** Bonnie and Damon are forced to share the same motel room during a quite distressing roadtrip. The results are… _interesting_ to say the least. And dirty.

* * *

The second time they share both a bed and breakfast room and a king sized bed, it's purely intentional. Damon signs them in as an official couple and Bonnie implicitly agrees by allowing him to.

It's the night after the first night they had sex, and they still have not even tried to address the subject of how their relationship is changing. They have not exactly denied anything either, but silent acknowledgement has been the key so far.

Their body language toward each other is slightly different – they move nearly in synch around each other now, and there's the way she no longer steps back whenever he invades her personal space. The way their hands and shoulders brush casually when they walk side by side.

This time around they will stay in the town they are scavenging for a couple of the days, maybe more. There's a fresh trail on a Bennett witch that stayed here for a few months before disappearing.

Damon feels restless and he doesn't know how much of it is related to his inborn dislike for provincial small towns like this one and how much of it is his body aching to take the witch again. He has never been used to abstaining from his wishes, but he has been trying to wait her out, to let her make the first move when it comes to being intimate with each other again. He thinks of her as a particularly wild, stubborn frilly you need to not scare off with excessive rashness if you want to tame her.

He's half sure that their night will go very much like their first if he plays his cards well.

Unfortunately, his plans go to hell when the witch falls asleep instantly as soon her head hits the pillow.

He is annoyed although there's a side of him that recognizes he should have anticipated this. Bonnie was sore and easily exhausted all day which made him more smug than she liked.

Stretching resignedly at her side, Damon lets his eyes drink her petite figure up. Despite the power that lives inside her body, she looks tiny and breakable curled like that on the mattress. The dark ringlets that frame her beautiful face, her lovely full lips, her cheekbones, the mocha shade of her skin - he likes the exotic innocence of the whole the ensemble so much that he wants to imprint it in his memory forever.

But no, if he is to be honest, at least with himself, he must acknowledge that his feelings go quite beyond liking.

Liking is reserved for barely impressive things. This is like being moved.

Bonnie Bennett is everything he had hungered for in Katherine (the fierceness, the pride, the willfulness, the power, sharpness in mind and tongue) and everything he ridiculed in Stefan (the idealism, the savior complex, the leanings toward martyrdom): this alone used to both irritate him and awake his lust.

The road-trip changed everything, forcing him to see that he didn't miss anyone or anything when the little witch was nearby all the time, because when Bonnie is close it is just natural to become absorbed completely with her very presence.

This is not obsession – it has too much tenderness laced in it.

It's not love either, or at least it's not love the way he has experienced it before. It's a dark, powerful feeling that urges him to protect and possess; a persistent whim to be Bonnie's master coupled with the just as constant need to be her servant. He wants her but he doesn't want to change himself for her the way he did for others – he wants that she takes him for all that he is and care anyway.

So Damon closes his eyes and listens to the soft patterns of her breathing, in and out, so even, so light and fragile.

Her heartbeat echoes in the darkness between them as the vampire relaxes, allows his mind to drift away in those sweet sounds. His limbs grow slowly relaxed and he falls into a state of pleasant drowsiness, until her scent reaches his nostrils and becomes so poignant that he feels possessed by it.

It's vanilla and rum, blood and peaches, coffee and chocolate – a heady mix that makes him drunk and very anxious to taste her on his tongue. He slithers closer, close enough that his nose is brushing her curls and inhales her deeply.

He drapes a possessive arm around her waist and tries really hard to be content with that. It lasts about five full minutes before he gets greedy and runs his lips against her nape. From there on, it's pretty easy to keep indulging himself by nibbling the sensual curve between her jaw and her shoulder. Her delicious taste brings back in full force vivid, glorious memories of last night, and although his intention is to awake her bit by bit, diligently, his focus on the task falters under the pull of physical responses to her.

He can feel her blood throbbing through her soft flesh, calling for his fangs, and his hands begin to wander while he buries his visage in her hair, jaw rigid with the effort to not bite.

He manages to calm the blood-thirst by focusing on other things: the feeling of her breast under his hand, through the flimsy fabric of her tank top, the texture of her skin as his palm caresses her stomach under the sheet, the plump softness of her ass against his groin.

He is not sure of when he begins to undulate against her, but he notices when Bonnie arches into his touch, her voice groggy as she calls his name.

They move against each other tentatively, only half-stifled grunts and groans breaking the silence. Eventually that languid rubbing of bodies turns a bit more insistent, his cock hard as it seeks more friction against the back of her thighs.

Smelling faint traces of her arousal in the air feeds Damon's hunger to slam into her welcoming wetness, but the fact that she is not as conscious as he is of what they are doing puts a damper on his excitement. He needs to know that she is enjoying this just as much as he is, so he breathes in and focuses, breaks the hazy barrier between his mind and hers to join Bonnie in that dreamy space she still lingers in. Suddenly he can feel what she feels: the lethargic pleasure of her skin against his, the first stirrings of lust fighting to sneak throughout the gentle heaviness of her half-asleep state. Her sensation runs through his nerves like they were his and it's good, a calming draught to his frantic hunger.

In the smoky dreamscape of her mind, her half-formed fantasies slip through his fingers – he can see random snippets of him and her, together, doing wicked things… her languid desire for him makes him dizzy.

He feels her figure shaping itself from the shadows – the glittering, voluptuous image of a goddess that wraps herself around him, touching him everywhere like she has a thousand hands, and he can only merge his more violent emotions with hers.

His release washes away everything – his every sin, his every regret. In her arms he feels pure, all-powerful, and reborn.

He awakes with a confused awareness of the wet spot in his boxers, his face hidden in the warm crook of Bonnie's neck.

"Mmmh," Bonnie grumbles into her pillow, beginning to stir lethargically, "Supernatural dream sex is the best."

Damon smirks at the well-sated sleepiness in her tone. He would be a fool to not agree.


	34. Break

**BREAK**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie-centric story, with _shadows _of Bonnie/Jeremy and Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: Bonnie learns to deal with a traumatic experience, and this gets Damon to look back on certain old behaviors of his with new eyes.**

**Rating: M **

**Warning:you might find this one disturbing. It _is _a dark story.**

Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2, up to 2.11.

**AN: Written for **theangelunknown **at the Five Acts Meme on her act 1 - Abuse.**

* * *

Bonnie never liked math much, ever since she was a little girl. So when the Klaus crisis arises and she needs to exercise and hone her powers more, math is the very first subject she falls behind in.

Professor Rainer is a cordial, fifty-something year-old man: not particularly handsome but charming, and Caroline used to have an awful crush on him. Fortunately he was very understanding after Grams died and Bonnie took her leave from school to stay with Aunt Rachel, with the result of her paper marks suddenly dropping all around.

Professor Rainer is her math teacher, and he is brilliant at what he does – when he gives her a little advice about improving her grades in his discipline, Bonnie feels nearly guilty for not being more interested. School simply stopped being something important and started to feel more and more like something that is getting in the way of her 'real' life, the supernatural one where everyone is in danger all the time and she needs to stay prepared.

So when he asks her to stay after hours to get some much necessary extra credit and make up for her last disastrous paper, Bonnie just inwardly cringes and goes along with it. Mr. Rainer is gentle with her, gets her to talk about how hard it is to live without Grams who was her rock in this world, stuck with a father too often absent and a mother who forgot her very existence, and two best friends who require too much looking after. When he squeezes her shoulder in solidarity, Bonnie feels understood and taken care of for once, so she smiles brilliantly at her teacher and is much more willing to face up to the issue of her dropping grades.

After all, he is the first person in long, long time to inquire about her well-being. He has asked every question she wanted her father to ask after Grams was gone, and this makes her grateful.

When he asks if she has a boyfriend in the middle of it, she doesn't feel particularly uncomfortable, thinking Mr. Rainer is trying to detect if she has been distracted by anything other than the abrupt changes in her life.

So she shakes her head, dismisses his concerns about Luka Martin and Jeremy Gilbert and says they are just friends.

She is unprepared for his next question, pronounced in a somehow skeptical tone: "But you do like boys, right?"

It leaves her feeling slightly offended, awkward, and insecure. There's nothing wrong with being a lesbian – her cousin Christabel is one, and she and Bonnie were close despite the wide age gap and the living very far from each other- but it's demeaning to think that just being boyfriend-less is warrant for this kind of questioning. Is this _really_ how other people see her?

She blinks the uncertainty away, mumbles a startled 'yes' and freezes on the spot as a calloused hand curls a straying lock of her dark hair behind her ear. Warning bells are echoing loudly inside her head and her green eyes widen as a thumb runs slightly on her lips. The touch leaves her lips tingling but whole her body goes still, rigid, cold. Even her mind feels empty.

"Do you like this?" he asks and she can't answer at all. She is not thinking, she is not feeling. At all. She is just cold and it's like her soul went somewhere else.

When he gets closer she frets, tries to back away. "This is not appropriate," she says, scrambling away from her seat, trying to re-establish the natural course of this meeting.

Professor Rainer follows her as she tries to slowly back toward the classroom door. She notices that he is moving in a peculiar fashion – circling around her, avoiding the large window by the left side of the room. For a moment she wonders if he is a vampire, but then she dismisses the idea at once. He's a whole other kind of predator, and he is making it so he can get in her close proximity again, but without the risk that someone can see them through the window. For some reason, this chills her.

"Forget if it's appropriate or not. Did you enjoy it?"

There's a flicker of ill-disguised annoyance under the forced pleasantry in his tone, like he's getting irritated with her refusal to not go along with his desires.

'_Don't anger him. Don't use your powers. He can make your life a living hell and you can't afford that. Not now,' s_uggests a voice inside her head, as the disconnected feeling between her body and her soul increases. It's almost like it's happening to somebody else, and it fits because there's still a part of herself that refuses to believe that this is real.

"Sure, but it was _not_ appropriate."

It may sound stupid but it's all that makes sense to her in this moment and she doesn't quite understand why it doesn't make sense to him in the same way.

Rainer gets two steps from her and Bonnie is suddenly overwhelmed by how much taller and larger than her he is. She fights hard to get a fresh wave of panic under control as he leans over, kissing her, grasping her even while she is walking slowly backwards.

"Are you afraid?" he smiles affably, caressing her arm because she is shaking hard.

"No," she says, but she sounds terrified, and he can't _not _notice. "You're the same age as my daughter," he adds, like this is supposed to make her feel better when it only makes her sick instead.

Pushing him off as he keeps trying to force his lips on hers is not easy – he is stronger, heavier. Her back hits the door and Bonnie grabs on the handle, tries to turn it just to discover the door is locked.

'_When did he do it?_' she wonders, because she didn't see it. Fortunately the keys are dangling from the lock.

"Don't play hard to get," he mutters in between forcing her chin up and pressing his lips against hers again.

It's his impatience that finally snaps Bonnie out of her apathy and into full rage mode. The window glass shatters in one loud explosion of glass splinters at pretty much the same time that her power pushes the damn pervert off her.

She can hear voices on the other side of the door as she gets it open. "Touch me again and I'm reporting you," she threatens, eyes blazing at the man kneeling on the floor. The scared expression on his face allows her to see that being reported is not exactly his main concern.

This pleases her and she needs to have more of it. She needs to feel safe within her skin again.

Something cuts the skin of his hand and face – vertical cuts, perfectly symmetrical. Later, Rainer will tell that it was flying pieces of glass that hurt him. Bonnie will know better.

She gets home feeling pleased with herself – she protected herself, hopefully with no unpleasant consequences.

_Nothing happened._ – she repeats inwardly – _I'm all right. I fought back._

Still, it bugs her that she can stand up to vampires and other monsters all time only to freeze and get tongue-tied around a measly high-school teacher. She should be stronger than that.

She should not have talked so freely with that teacher. If he took certain liberties with her, surely something she has done or said gave him the impression that he could get away with it. Or that she could have liked the attention.

Ben had said something like that when he kidnapped her, had he not? He had insinuated that she was easy to get because she wanted desperately to be noticed. Was it... true?

Bonnie shakes her head, wishing she could get free of the stray thought just as easily.

She still remembers how Grams had comforted her in between the kidnapping and the preparation for the Tomb opening.

"_Never do this, sweetheart. Never let a man to convince you that something like this is your fault. If it seems so easy to believe right now, it's only because your mind is fighting to assert your control on the situation. Unless it's your mistake, it's something you can fix so it won't happen again. It doesn't make it real, Bonnie. Deep down, you know it. You just trusted the wrong person."_

Apparently trusting the wrong person is a mistake Bonnie is fond of repeating.

She brushes her teeth five times before feeling the sour taste on her lips disappear, but her agitation is merely growing and the witch is crying hard into her pillow before she knows it.

There's an endless list of wrongs she filed against herself. She is a witch after all; she should recognize certain dangers before they are on her. For the same reason, she should have done something, anything, differently. She had acted like she was fucking helpless and she is not.

There' s no Grams to confide in this time around, and confiding in Elena means that anything Elena knows, Stefan and Damon will know soon too. Confiding in her dad means reporting Rainer and while this would normally be the right thing to do, she had used her powers on him and the last thing she needs is drawing attention on that. Confiding in Caroline means risking that Caroline drains the pervert: she already made her friend a vampire – she won't make her a murderer too. Not again.

So really, the one option is keeping this little secret to herself.

_It won't be all that hard_ – Bonnie reflects- _after all, nothing really happened .It's not like he raped me._

* * *

She doesn't go to school for two days straight, claiming she caught a cold.

She is strangely afraid to leave the house, and her powers are in complete disarray.

Mugs break, objects levitate on no notice and her mind keeps drifting back to that classroom. The more she thinks of it, the more she suspects it was not the first time Rainer harassed a student.

His actions had nothing tentative – and if she was not the first one, maybe she won't be the last.

Which is not acceptable at all.

So she takes action, studies her due on Emily's and Sheila's Grimoires and writes her first spell. She shapes Rainer's figure within a wax block and curses him, binding him to never force himself on anyone, female or male again. If he even tries, his body will respond with a seizure.

This makes Bonnie feel more like her usual self, and it in turn gives her backbone to leave the house again.

The first day out she coddles herself with shopping: she buys casual dresses modest but flattering to her form, tight jeans and shirts. It won't be until weeks after that she will feel safe wearing them, but hanging them in her closet in the meantime made her feel better. Less like a victim and more like a brave person.

Her life goes on. Rainer doesn't bother her again and her marks in math jump up dramatically but Bonnie doesn't feel victorious, just angry. Every time she spots him in passing or is forced to listen to his lessons, she feels a murderous rage boiling up. The memories are there, whispering in the back of her mind, and there's a tendril of the old, despicable fear - the fear of every woman for a man who tried to violate her.

Bonnie can't accept being scared, because her mantra is that there was no violation. This man tried to humiliate and intimidate her into accepting his advances, but it wasn't rape.

And she wasn't a victim, not really. She hurt him back. She stopped him from hurting another girl. It should be enough. Bonnie needs for it to be enough because she has too many other issues to look after – the werewolf problem, the Klaus problem, the Elena obsession with getting herself sacrificed and the deal with Elijah.

It's not the right time to have a breakdown over a problem that she has already solved. So she should be calm and collected on this front at least.

Yet… there's this deep, instinctual part of her that can't let go of this offense. Can't forget that someone (somebody human, someone who claimed to want to help her) considered her a thing, not a person. Somebody _human_ fed on her fear, got off on cornering her into something she never wanted, acted like she was wrong if she wanted nothing of it at all.

This is monstrous and evil and it kills her innocence so much more than knowing vampires are real.

* * *

She starts to date Jeremy because he makes her feel safe. When she looks into his brown eyes, she sees tenderness and admiration and respect. When he looks at her, Bonnie knows he sees only the most heroic, beautiful side of her. In the supernatural world and in their most ordinary days, they have each other's back and that is in itself a wonderful security, a treasure she has not had in long, long time. When they make love, whether she is under him or above him, she always feels in control. In and out of the bedroom, Jeremy Gilbert treats her like something precious and incredibly rare.

Bonnie doesn't mind that his feelings for her are coming from a dark place of loss inside him. Love is love, regardless of its reasons or origins and they both need it so much.

If she doesn't tell him about the accident with Rainer, it's because there's no reason to upset him. She only wants to spare him from the anger she has experienced.

* * *

It comes as a surprise when Damon Salvatore is the very first person she tells _that old story_ to.

In her defense, Bonnie can say she was tipsy and well on her way to being drunk. She has been lingering around the bar stool of the Mystic Grill after a discretely public breakup with Jeremy. He told her that their problems during the last month came back to the fact that she was emotionally available only up to a certain point, and she insisted that he had already had his eye on a certain water-nymph that recently moved into town.

The truth is that they are both right, and although the decision to take some time apart didn't come with any resentments or senses of betrayal, there's still a hurt Bonnie is in the mood to nurse with alcohol.

How Damon ends up sitting beside her whole the night is a mystery, but once he offered to share his bottle of vodka, Bonnie stopped caring and started bantering.

How she came to confessing about the 'Rainer incident' is probably related to her guilt over being emotionally unavailable to her perfectly devoted boyfriend.

"What I don't understand," the witch drawls, the way only drunks know how to do, "is why inside my head I feel like this. He didn't rape me. But some part of me feels like he did."

Damon's expression as he looks at her sideways, filling her glass again more out of habit than anything else, is oddly furrowed.

"Do you want me to kill him for you?" he asks, a bit more heatedly than she would expect. They are nowhere close to being friends or to having each other's best interests at heart.

"No," she snorts, feeling just the slightest bit tempted to say the opposite.

"Then why are you saying this _to me_? I'm not into counseling. That's Stefan's hobby. Call him."

Bonnie smiles dazedly. "It's cute of you to want his backup."

"I don't. I'm just saying he's more… estrogen-equipped than me for this conversation. "

The dazed smile curls into a full-blown smirk. "Don't panic. I'm not looking for comfort either. I was just… blowing out some steam. "

"Good," the vampire nods, looking somehow contrite as he stares straight ahead. Bonnie studies his profile as he sips on his drink while she starts thinking in circles again, and it's so tiring to have those questions constantly on the back of her mind that she can't help voicing them.

"I just don't get it: how can a man take pleasure in taking from a woman a body she doesn't want to give him?"

Damon swirls his drink, studiously unaffected. "How should I know? I'm not a serial woman abuser."

Bonnie's answering giggle is bitter and sarcastic and so transparent that even Damon can't shut it out of his consciousness.

"What?" he inquires, turning toward her with a rather annoyed set of his eyebrows.

"You used to do it all the time, compelling girls for sex and blood."

"It's not the same," he snaps, and by his offended tone and the set of his mouth she almost thinks he cares about her opinion.

"You take away their ability to say 'no' in order to get what you want. It's _exactly_ the same. The fact that you manage to force them to either enjoy it or to forget it doesn't make it better. It might make it worse."

Damon gets abruptly off his seat, glaring at her. "Whatever, witch. I don't even do that anymore."

Bonnie shrugs, hardly impressed. "Right now you're focused on Elena and you want a chance at something real with her. Not quite a noble motivation, is it?"

The vampire slams his money on the barstool, grits out a 'Judgmental as ever' aimed in her direction accompanied by a fancy glare, and then stalks away.

Bonnie scowls as she stares at his retreating back, slightly insulted by Damon's hissy fit and over-dramatic exit. So he sat there and listened to her woes and possibly tried to comfort her in his bizarre way - why should this preclude her from expressing negative opinions over anything he has done or will do?

She just told him the truth, and if he didn't like it, he had only himself to blame for the outcome of his actions.

Yet… she smiles absently, wondering if Damon is angry enough to go and take it out on Rainer, regardless of her refusal of his generous offer. It's a nice thought, the image of vampire fangs tearing her professor's throat apart. Or vampire strength tearing his body apart, piece to piece, like the animal he actually is.

She can't justify killing the pig to herself, but she's not quite hypocritical enough to deny that she kind of wants him dead, finished. She hates the figment of herself that still shivers every time she walks into class, hates that even if she won her battle with threats and curses, it still feels like she lost.

But if Rainer died tonight, it would be perfect. She would have nothing to force her to remember daily that ugly, ugly moment of her life.

She might just … move on.

Bonnie eyes the door, knowing she should rush through it, go after Damon and make sure he doesn't do anything unnecessary. But her stomach turns at the idea of saving Rainer's life.

His actions toward her had not been humane, so why should she be the bigger person and treat him like he is a man and not a sick, disgusting pervert?

He treated her like a _thing_, screwed up her entire way of thinking.

If being a hero means being respectful of scum like that, Bonnie decides she is better off doing herself the favor of simply being human.

So she shrugs off the question of whatever Damon might or might not do and smiles at the bartender, asking for more gin.

It's not like Damon cares that much about her opinion, anyway.

* * *

The next morning Rainer is absent from his lessons.

They find parts of his corpse-an arm, a foot in the river- the following week. Nobody suspects Damon but Bonnie and of course the very first thing she does is go to the boarding house. He doesn't deny anything, because Stefan and Elena are not around.

"You don't get to make me an accomplice in your killing sprees. If I had wanted him dead, I would have done it myself."

The witch's voice is curiously lacking her usual vehemence as she says that. She _has_ to say it, because she can't let the vampire think she will turn a blind eye to him killing people right, left and center just because they aren't decent human beings. She cannot afford to play God and decide who is more or less deserving of living, but this time it's exactly what she has done.

She knew there was a chance of Damon killing her teacher and she took a deliberate, drunken decision to look away. This makes her his accomplice, not his jury. But it will be once and never again.

Damon is looking at her and smiling like he knows every thought in her head and every feeling behind her mask. It startles her that might know her mind enough to read her so, when all he has done so far is watch from a distance and provoke her into arguments.

"I didn't do it for you."

"So what, you did it for yourself?"

It's meant to be sarcastic –Bonnie's body language conveys that. Yet Damon nods and beams his most maniacal grin like she is serious.

"Everything I do is for me, myself, and I."

At that reply, the witch stays silent. In a way, she agrees with his argument. Yet, her instincts keep screaming it's just an excuse, and she would trust her instincts over reason any time.

Strangely, her silence has the collateral effect of spurring Damon to talk.

"I didn't like what you said about me that night. It made me angry at you and angrier at myself. I don't want to be that person anymore."

And the most startling thing is she believes him. She can't pinpoint what is convincing her of his sincerity exactly, but she feels his honesty deep in her gut. It warms her.

"How does that tie into killing a high school teacher?"

Damon saunters closer, tugs slightly at her arm for no particular reason. "Because he did what I used to do, albeit with less class, and he did it _to_ _you_. I didn't like that. Because I respect you."

It's strange to be forced to realize that Damon Salvatore out of all people _cares_ about her, whatever this means, but there's no other possible explanation for what he has done or said.

When did it happen?

Bonnie has no idea, and for once it doesn't matter. His hands cup her face on each side, thumbs stroking the skin softly. His touch feels warm, not cold and this is how Bonnie knows she will be all right.

Not because Damon Salvatore cares about her – she saved herself before he ever came into play with his strange gestures of good will. But because despite everything he has done and said, right now, he doesn't feel like a threat.

She is not sorry Rainer is dead – she is relieved, more than anything else, because seeing that creep around was a reminder of something she would prefer never remembering. He was a real monster, lower than filth in her eyes, and she can no more hold his death against Damon than she can hold it against herself.

But right now, right here, she can accept that Damon is not the man he used to be, that he has chosen to be better, not just for Elena but for himself. She can forgive him, let the anger go, because he saw what he used to do for what it was and he was disgusted enough to kill Rainer for it.

And if she can forgive Damon, see past their precedents to let him touch her, and see a future where he might not be her enemy… then she is not broken. She is healing.

**

* * *

**

AN:

I realize the attack scene, upon rereading it, sounds like something out of a comic book. I have the misfortune of saying that that scene is quite close to something that happened to me personally a long time ago. It was a hard scene to write, and in many ways I didn't want to write this story to begin. But when I saw the prompt sitting there, I thought it was my chance to let the past go and to send a message in a bottle to every girl who found herself in a similar position, and felt like she somehow deserved it or 'went looking for it'. When a man in position of power pressures a woman in such a way, he knows exactly what he is doing, and he most certainly knows it's not what she wants.

This story is very dark - there will be a more lighthearted sequel named 'Repair' more Bamon oriented, and more set in Damon's side of things.


	35. DELIRIUM

**DELIRIUM**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: ****Pre- Haunted,**** Damon stalks Bonnie even inside her dreams. Here's a possible alternate explanation on why he looked so regretful after tearing her throat out.**

**Rating: Mature**

**Spoilers:** vague spoilers for season 2, up to 2.11.

**AN: Written for Kivajayelle ****at the Five Acts Meme for her Acts n2 and n3. **

* * *

It always starts the same way: she will grow aware of a slight pressure on the surface of her mind and then something… something invasive, strange and dark breaking in, like a thief in the night. In the morning she will remind herself that it's just Grams' lessons going to her head and Stefan's older brother popping up everywhere she goes lately, like he is stalking her. No one is stalking her and nobody can truly invade her dreams. If Damon Salvatore gives her chills, it's because she knows how he used and abused Caroline.

Yet it feels like there's more. That icy coldness that delves inside her dreamscape and surrounds her in the shape of a thick fog, it feels like it's a living, menacing thing, chasing after her.

In her dreams she is always running, as fast her legs can carry her, through the woods, always knowing she will never go fast enough to escape…_him. _The dreams always end on the same line of the same page, but there's no comfort in the predictability of the scheme. When she cuts through the mists they feel nearly solid, like a buttery caress that seeps through her clothes to imprint its mark on her skin, crawling down her back and from her shoulders to her arms.

The foreign, greedy thing chasing her always enjoys every moment of her escape. She can taste his excitement with every ragged breath she takes and when the vice finally closes around her waist or ankle, it's almost a relief. She is pinned down on the moist, musk-smelling ground in a matter of seconds and that's when she sees him.

That pale angular face has an unnatural, alien stillness to it, and those eyes shine a metallic blue in the darkness. The smile on those well-shaped lips is both cruel and complacent, always.

His body is covering hers without brushing and the distance between their flesh is paper-thin, making her ever more aware of the compromising intimacy of their position. She has never been so close to a man before.

"Are you frightened of me, baby bird?" he says, purring out those words in a tone that colors them both gloomy and seductive. It sounds like something long practiced.

"Should I be?" she answers, raising her chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated although he _is_ pretty intimidating.

His smile twitches, nearly becomes genuine for a few seconds before cooling again – he likes when she fights back.

"I like you, Bonnie," he voices smugly, tilting his head like a bird, his thumbs slowly stroking her inner wrists. "But you should really give that necklace back. Bad things happen to good girls who get in the way of evildoers."

"Fuck you," she hisses, hating every single thing that makes up Damon Salvatore, even if she barely knows him.

The man smirks, something behind his eyes going very still and then jolting back to life, in way that makes him look inherently insane. The serial-killer brand of insane, that is.

"Oh, yes," he promises, nodding like he is accepting an offer she has inadvertently laid out. Except, somewhere inside she knew it was going to come to _this_, even before his hand grabs the collar of her pajama shirt and rips it open. He holds her down firmly as he tears off the rest of her clothing, yet there's a certain carefulness in his grasp, like he knows exactly how easy she is to break.

She has no idea how or why or when his clothing melted away, but he is as naked as she is, the shadows of the forest alternately hiding and revealing the ivory perfection of his upper body.

She looks at him with huge, unafraid eyes before beginning to struggle to get up, to free herself from the cage of his arms.

It's embarrassingly useless since Damon unabashedly releases her hands just to grasp her hips and lay her on the ground again. Bonnie hates the heat of his mouth over her throat, her nipples, her collarbone and shoulders. It burns her and it feels too much like a brand. She hates the heat inside her too – that dark, sharp, and needful ache pulsating between her legs and in her breasts.

It doesn't make sense: she despises him, and he doesn't know her at all, but feeling her skin against his sparks a blunt awareness of everywhere they are touching inside.

"I've wanted to do this since I saw you at the fair," he hums in her ear, just before nibbling and suckling on her earlobe, and he's sliding down against her, covering her and smothering her with twin feelings of rage and need.

His palms glide over her buttocks, cupping and parting her, forcefully but gently, enough that he could dive deep inside her in one smooth stroke.

There's nothing rough about the way Damon thrusts in and out of her. He fucks her with deliberate, long, deep strokes, grasping her face with tender-like care between his index and thumb, constantly making sure that she is looking up, straight at his face, to not miss a second of the wanton satisfaction she can easily read there.

In truth, it is not even occurring to her to look away. The manner his arrogantly beautiful features twist in licentious delight, the dark flame behind his cobalt eyes mesmerize.

She is panting loudly in the night, suddenly tempted to wrap her legs around his.

Bonnie clams her mouth shut instead, unwilling to let him hear any evidence of what she is feeling. The man above her makes a sound in between a snarl and chuckle.

"Not like that, witch. I want to hear every gasp and whimper."

Anger brightens her gaze at that condescending, arrogant command that demeans her and yet hungers her at the same time. There's a flicker of panic and an increasing sense of exposure at the idea that this semi-stranger knows who she is, and Bonnie shakes, closes her eyes against the rush of alarm to confirm her indifference to the orders he assumes he can give her.

"Stubborn, loyal, insolent little fool," he drawls huskily, lips skimming over her cheeks and chin before pressing roughly over her mouth. It doesn't quite sound like an insult, but his tongue traces and tastes the line of her closed lips, the skin of her jaw and chin. His thrusts are deeper and slower now, and they make her dizzy with a desire to force him to speed up.

He stops abruptly, and she doesn't know how to feel. He molds her breasts in his hands and hefts each globe, bouncing them briefly.

"So innocent and sweet and bright on the outside, yet so dark and fiery and _biting_ on the inside… you are such an entertaining little treat. I love it, baby."

Her eyes jolt open again when she feels fingers between their joined bodies, thumbing her clit in circles.

The heat in her belly coils tighter and tighter, becoming impossible to deny, and looking again into Damon's eyes, she feels even more helpless toward what is coming, lost, and she knows _he_ knows it.

He is watching her with a rapt sort of concentration, like he is burning every detail of her downfall into his mind, and she can't stop him from looking at her when she is spiraling down, at her most vulnerable…

And so she breaks, feels her lips disclose a moan as the inevitable orgasm rips through her. He is unmoving and firm, lodged so deep inside her, and it feels good in ways she can't articulate.

Her walls begin fluttering around him, milking him as he refuses to budge and it's not even humiliating anymore to feel his eyes on her all the fucking time; he refuses to budge and fuck her properly. There's only this poignant frustration of not having enough and it feeds the burning inside until she is coming apart at the seams, vocalizing her surrender with a startled cry.

Damon smiles slowly and kisses the corner of her mouth when she comes back from her high, blatantly pleased with both himself and her.

"Now, little witch, was that not as wonderful for you as it was for me?" he murmurs silkily against her temple, drawing back and bending her right knee upward, withdrawing from her slowly and almost completely.

Bonnie doesn't answer, just pants hard as she again feels the sense of danger and negativity that wraps itself around this man's aura. It's not evil exactly, but the casual, easy ferocity she senses lurking behind his beautiful surface makes her skin crawl while her sex weeps in loss.

Damon's fingers slap her engorged nub with a bruising roughness that falls into a softer pace at traits.

"You looked dazzling when you came for me, pretty and fragile and_ so not pure_. Not so unattainable after all. Give me more, Bon. Get all wet for me again."

The way his lips wrap around her name, shortening it, turning it into a curse word, spreads that unstoppable warmth in her blood once more. The rougher he touches her _there_, the more he keeps his dick from penetrating her as deeply as before, and the more she squirms.

"No," she says to herself, not to him, because the way her body responds to him is not acceptable.

"Yes," he contradicts her, taunting as his cock sinks in balls-deep again, her head lolls back and she feels a sinful pleasure building up again at the sliding of his cool skin over the sweaty heatedness of hers, and the jagged, fast pace that is just picking up.

She squeezes him hard between her thighs, feeling half-avenged and half-unsettled when he groans in appreciation. Her eyes are tearing up in aggravation…it feels so good, and it is not supposed to. It also doesn't feel like enough – Damon keeps pulling out as soon as he reaches that most hidden, moist recess of her body, and it's so, so frustrating. She needs him to stay there just a bit longer, just a bit slower, but she will never ask for that openly. That would be like admitting she is enjoying this.

The sounds she is making are bad enough, but they are out of her control, whimpers and mewls that escape before she realizes and paint that smug grimace on his face.

"Again," he growls, and there's a moment where this command is not a command at all. He sounds just as out of control as she feels, twisting and pinching her clit until there's no holding back. The ecstasy of that little pain mingling in with her lust is heady and she falls into that magnificent delirium again. She is nothing but desire and pleasure and hyper-aware senses.

It's not the last time she loses herself to that beautiful, damning release. Damon's tongue, cock and fingers bring her there many times before he is done with her.

And when she wakes, drenched in sticky sweat, her pajama shirt pasted to her back, the covers too heavy on her heated body, she is angry and mournful, shivering with need. Her flesh is tingling; her forehead is beaded with sweat and clenching her legs shut only worsens the throbbing wetness between her thighs. Her hands stay inert by her sides until they sneak _there,_ seeking the proof of just how tainted she is, with her over-sensitized flesh flaming at the memory of a man she barely knows.

Her underwear is drenched, her nub thrumming with arousal as too vivid images from her dream flash through her mind. The sound of his voice still echoes in her ears; the words playing back, his voice like venom laced honey:

"_I've wanted to do this since I saw you at the fair."_

She thinks back to the first time Caroline formally introduced them, the way his eyes checked her out lingeringly – right in front of his girlfriend - before they sought hers and held on. She saw an all encompassing coldness and greed in those ice eyes that were both pleased at and dismissive of the sight of her.

From the very first moment, she has been determined to dislike him. At the fair, meeting him solo, she had seen only the bully who had torn Caroline's self-esteem apart. It didn't make a difference that his shirt was so tight and his chest so well-defined, she had not felt any attraction to him.

She has never been the kind of girl who told off arrogant, spoiled bullies just to turn around and secretly daydream about them. So what is she doing, dreaming about that asshole, slightly stroking the wetness that stains her panties while the picture of his condescending smirks lingers somewhere in her memory?

Ashamed and furious with herself, Bonnie throws off the covers and takes off her pj top, dropping it on the floor. Her pants and ruined underwear go the same way, and when she is sitting on her bed, dangling her bare legs off the edge, the one thought in her head is that she can't stand being in such a state due to the likes of Damon Salvatore. She needs this madness out of her body.

She guides her hand to her soaking center, parting her folds to drive two fingers harshly inside. It hurts a little, being stretched so roughly, but it's the sort of pain she can welcome as a fair punishment for her traitorous fantasies.

Safe in the knowledge she is the one occupant of her house tonight, she tosses her head back and moans noisily, half-disgusted and half-turned on by the shrill wantonness of the sound.

Something clanks loud against the glass of her window just as Bonnie is clenching her eyes closed and pushing deeper, hoping to free herself from this fever once for all.

The young witch turns her head toward the window, alarmed… but it's just a stupid, large crow, sitting on her window sill and croaking. If the animal knew the heart attack he almost caused her.

Bonnie takes a breath of relief and does a scissoring motion with her fingers, encouraged to go rough by the fresh wave of self-loathing induced by the inescapable truth of her increasing _want_.

She can still feel him, around her, inside her, like he is right there. Real, not a fantasy.

The damn crow croaks again, louder, and if she was in the mood to think, she would think it looks like the bird is trying to catch her attention.

As it is, Bonnie just tilts her head instinctively toward him, with a lopsided, sarcastic smirk on her lips.

_So this is where this world has led me – to being spied by a creepy bird while I masturbate, after having a wet dream about a man I despise. God, being a witch truly messed me up. _

Her fingers dive deeper, faster with that thought, and despite the weirdness of it she is still staring in the general direction of her feathered voyeur when she cums violently, the phantom feeling of Damon's caresses on her breasts still very present.

She mouths his name in the otherwise silent room, a reasonless feeling of being haunted flaring up at the edges of her conscious, and that's when the crow flies away in a noisy rush.

That is the last night she has a shamelessly erotic dream about Damon Salvatore and the last time she sees any dark-winged, large birds hovering close to her house. In the following days, Bonnie will be relieved. She will pass off those nightly, too vivid occurrences as the result of too much stress and too much repressed anger.

Then she will find out that vampires are real, and she'll learn of what they can do in general, what Damon Salvatore used to do in particular.

Then she will feel enraged and very willing to forget.

Those nights of low-keyed violence and unwilling lust become a secret that lingers, unspoken and seemingly forgotten, between her and Damon. That secret will fuel her loathing of him and will keep him from hating her, even when her anger will become a threat to his life and his interests.

But every time their eyes will clash during an argument or a chilly exchange of words, they will both remember that, before Elena ever mattered to him and before Katherine failed him, there was Bonnie Bennett, what he had repeatedly taken from her, and how she had repeatedly responded to it.

They will both want to dismiss it, but that old heat that will lick at the surface of their skin from deep within will make any dismissal impossible and every denial temporary.


	36. Repair

**REPAIR**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: After the events occurred in 'Break', Damon has taken it upon himself to discretely watch over Bonnie. Follow their journey as they go from being not quite enemies to friends to something more.**

**Rating: pg13**

Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2, up to 2.11.

**AN: Written for **theangelunknown **at the Five Acts Meme on her act 1 – Abuse.**

* * *

Damon Salvatore's life runs in a mad rush of violent passions and decisions embraced on a whim. He had spent decades wallowing in the use and abuse of his vampiric abilities without ever concerning himself with how whatever he did affected others. Human life did not matter to him, because he was no longer human. Human emotions were his plaything because he was no longer a prey to them (except where Katherine and Stefan were concerned). He despised the world and everyone in it, so there was no action of his that was inexcusable, no boundary worthy of being respected.

His idea of love is endless indulgence and limitless dedication – this is what he offered to Katherine and what he liked to imagine that Elena was learning to offer to him (Stefan's annoying presence in the equation notwithstanding).

Right and wrong are concepts he doesn't quite remember clearly – he has been a vampire for so long that he is not completely sure that remembering would help anyway. He is used to living under the dictates of his feelings, and it almost doesn't make a difference that it was Katherine before and is Elena now. He keeps doing what he knows –craving, hungering, envying, and waiting.

It's nearly a safety net, despite how much it can hurt, in this humanity-bound existence he is struggling to embrace again.

Bonnie Bennett is the annoying know-it-all, wannabe-heroine that threatens his right to do anything he likes at any time he fancies. This irritates on his best days and comforts on his worst ones.

His feelings toward her are often ambivalent – he respects her and yet he is annoyed by her very presence, he lusts for her body and blood even while he despises her narrow-mindedness. Her unswerving moral compass is something he envies and resents at once, but mostly he cares for her in ways that don't really require her to return the fondness he feels.

In a world where his charm and pretty excuses wash away every tangible remnant of his actions, Damon often has the sensation that he is becoming less tangible every day. While he has always been fickle and moody, this feeling of losing himself is entirely new. He has spent almost a century trying to become a better Katherine than Katherine, hoping he could both escape the needy, clingy, inconsequential human he used to be and to impress her once he got her free from the damn tomb. Nowadays it feels like he is drowning in this new love for Elena, and while some days it comes like a pleasant, redeeming kind of torture, some others he gets the disorienting impression that he is morphing into a whiney caricature of Stefan.

Generally, he shakes off those unflattering thoughts as soon as his brain formulates them, never having been much of a fan of useless philosophizing, but the feeling of wrongness never quite goes away.

But when he looks deep into Bonnie Bennett's angry, challenging eyes whenever they are forced to interact, he is reminded of everything he has done to her, to those she has loved. In those moments he knows his actions made a real impact on somebody's life, negative as it may be, and he knows he has existed as something more than someone's fantasy.

Maybe this is what endears Bonnie Bennett to him at first.

Either way, he doesn't quite realize he cares about her opinion until she tells him to his face that she thinks he is some serial woman abuser. It hurts him, the indifference in her voice as she slaps him with yet another of her pesky judgments – she says it like it is fact to be taken at face value and no doubt is even possible.

Damon doesn't have any friends, not in the conventional meaning of the word. Elena calls herself his friend during his lucky days, but friendship is not really what they have- there's too little trust, and a bit too much lust. Liz thinks she is his friend, and in some moments Damon likes to remember her that way, but he now knows how she would look at him if she _really_ knew him. And then there's Caroline, who despises him possibly more than he despises her. Jeremy can play nice, but only because he is forced to.

They are all complacent toward him, mostly because they are wary of what he might do if they're not, but the witch is different.

Damon would never call her his friend but he likes being around her, likes her fire and her integrity.

So, when he compels Rainer to not scream and staying put while he cuts him before getting pissed enough to snap his neck, he is doing it as a gift to _her,_ a gift she never asked and would never approve of, but a gift nonetheless. A gift of apology, or maybe a spiteful homage to her honesty where her view of his actions is concerned. Or maybe he is just angry that the moral compass he came to rely on is being messed up by someone so far beneath her station. He doesn't know really, and he doesn't care to find out all that much.

He just enjoys killing the bastard, tearing his limbs apart, reducing his corpse to a bloody mess of entrails he can easily dispose afterwards. It's lucky he was at least careful to drag that gibbering pig among the woods, because cleaning up after his work would be hell otherwise.

* * *

In the following weeks of their truce, Damon looks after the witch. It's not something he decides consciously, but once he starts there's no stopping. He observes her when she convinces Elena to come along with her to a self-defense course, when she drops loose blouses and overflowing skirts in favor of sexier, darker-colored dresses. He watches her as she focuses more on training her powers in her free time, trailing her in his raven form.

He watches her putting back the pieces of her old identity, half-wondering why she is not cracking already.

"I'm not stalking you, I'm checking up on you. In those dire, Klaus-clouded times, it's a sad necessity," he answers condescendingly to her when Bonnie finally corners him, demanding an explanation. Her green cat-like eyes narrow on his and he can feel the thickness of her suspicion on his tongue.

_What do you want from me? _–she is wondering, and it feels very different, more personal, than it felt every other time she questioned his actions.

Even her body language is defensive, her mouth tight, and the vampire experiences the full blow of indefinite anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm not a ticking time bomb, Damon, so spare me any favors."

He forces a smirk at the haughtiness in her tone, pretends to not notice the way she steps back from him, reestablishing a more comfortable distance between their bodies.

"Whatever you say, Judgey."

He does not stop watching her from a distance and she makes very clear that all his apparent affability won't convince her to help him with _anything._

Damon finds her tenacity very amusing, right until the day she waits on her porch, staring straight at the raven flying low over her garden.

"Will you give it a rest?"

"No."

"It won't win you any extra points with Elena. Go harass her if you're bored."

She is pouting so endearingly, scorn all over her severe scowl, that Damon can't take offense at her hostility.

"Even I need a break, little witch."

He doesn't add that Elena doesn't need him – Elena has Stefan, Caroline, Jonathan Gilbert, Jeremy, Alaric and Bonnie to keep a watch on her and it is tiring being told _all the time_ how unnecessary his presence is to her. She is glad enough to have him around, but he is in no way essential to her survival or happiness.

Bonnie has only herself and her powers–Damon knows how it feels and since he is still the only one who knows her small secret, he will keep guarding her. If only because she is the one witch they have and they can't afford losing her.

Bonnie sighs a bit too deeply, shakes her head in a blatant show of exasperation. "I have the kettle boiling. Do you want a cup of tea?" she asks with all sorts of poison laced up in the words, but Damon does a double take all the same.

"Are you _inviting_ me _in_?"

She snorts, rolling her eyes heavenwards. "God, no. But since you're here and insist on staying, you might as well answer a few questions about Emily."

"Bon-Bon, you are such a sentimental, sociable little bird. That's what I like about you."

But he stays. Even if he hates tea. Only because he is curious to see if the witch will really stay out on the porch to share a cup _with him_.

He is half-convinced it's a bluff. It's not, but in the weeks after, he will come by all the same, and they will sit on the porch side to side with whatever concoction Bonnie is in the mood for, chatting of more or less practical things.

* * *

When Caroline suddenly starts treating him like a salvageable human being, Damon understands why right away.

"You _told_ her," he accuses softly but grumpily during one of their tea sessions.

"Yes," she admits blandly, looking down in her cup, like she is thinking hard and working up the nerve to either stay quiet or voice her thoughts. Damon waits her out, knowing it's the only way to know what is going on inside her crafty little head.

"She cried for me," she eventually adds, tasting the statement on her tongue like it was some foreign language.

"She's been known to cry for far less important things."

Bonnie shakes her head, looking contrite. "I know it was not my fault, rationally. But until I saw how angry and upset Caroline was after listening to me, there was some small part of me that felt like I had no right to get emotional over… _it. _I wanted to be stronger than that_._"

Damon shrugs, looks swiftly away from her earnest, hostility-free gaze. "It wasn't something to be taken lightly."

The young witch nods, then switches subjects abruptly, saying, "You know, I've always been surprised that Tyler didn't hate me at all for my part in Mason's thing."

Actually the real miracle is that Teen Wolf still hangs around their small vampire family after knowing about Damon's offing both his uncle and Vicky.

It took him something like, what, a week of seething resentment before the mutt decided to blame all the ordeal on Damon, sparing Caroline and Stefan completely?

"That's why nobody warned him of your involvement, little bird."

She is so taken aback that she completely forgets reprimanding the vampire for his constant attempts at nicknaming her.

"Oh."

* * *

When Bonnie and Jeremy start to see each other again, Damon is unexplainably put-off from… well, everything in the world.

In fact, he feels so petty that he considers confiding in Elena about Bonnie's little secret ordeal just to gain a few extra points and have his ego stroked by the brunette's fluttering eyelashes – Elena always leaned the most on him when she was upset.

But whenever he tried to really picture the scene, his enjoyment of the fantasy was ruined by his awareness that he could never betray Bonnie on such a fundamental level.

Even if they weren't on properly friendly terms.

He didn't quite understand what he wanted from the witch, but seeing her flirty and relaxed around Jeremy gave him an extremely strange sensation. He is genuinely, profoundly content, that she is visibly beginning to feel better but he is also sad because it means she no longer needs him, and Bonnie was the one person who truly did, at least for a little bit.

So he keeps appearing on her porch, waiting for the day she will pretend to not know he is outside.

It never comes.

* * *

He starts noticing how beautiful Bonnie is when she smiles, when that soft, bright glow seems to radiate from her eyes and face. She is like sunshine, Damon always thinks when he sees it, and even if he has this urge to touch her, to lean in and breathe in her spicy scent, he doesn't give in.

He starts thinking of her before he falls asleep – and not in a sexual way- and notices he's in a better mood whenever he can anticipate seeing her.

He starts _accidentally_ running into her more often around the town, just to have an excuse to spend more time with her.

It's not stalking, he reassures to both her teasing self and his sarcastic excuse for a conscious, it's just a small town in a small world.

But he is irrationally pleased when Alaric gets her stuck with a history project so she can gain a few extra credit points, because it gives Saint Stefan the chance to take the obvious route and offer their library as a source.

Damon grows fond of interrupting her evening study sessions at some point just to bitch about the general sorry state of everybody's existence (and Jeremy's specifically).

Bonnie's threats of bodily harm are all playfulness and sass and she doesn't push his hand away when he gives in to the temptation to pull her very tug-able curls.

In those evenings, Stefan mostly keeps to his room or goes over to Elena's with a smug expression Damon carefully avoids commenting upon.

* * *

Damon hates deep thinking – it never brings him anywhere good, or maybe it always ends badly because he holds on his superficiality until it's unavoidable.

The point is Damon never questioned his feelings for Elena much. He knows he wishes she had been Katherine, that he would die for her in a heartbeat if it's necessary to keep her safe and happy.

He knows he has little memory of living without living for someone else. His existence before Katherine was bland and meaningless and when he had not had her anymore, he switched right away to being all about Elena, so the full weight of being himself never fully fell on his shoulders. He will concede that living for Elena is less painful and demeaning than living for Katherine used to be, and he is grateful to his lovely miss Gilbert for giving a positive meaning to his days. Occasionally, he wondered if his feelings were specific to Elena as a person or if he would have responded the same way to any girl who had treated him the same way Elena had in the same circumstances life had struck them together. He always dismissed the reasoning as ridiculous.

Until spending time with Elena starts to feel different, like some vital component is missing and he cannot, for the life of him, figure out what is wrong with him.

He still loves her but… he cannot avoid the pang of disappointment every time he takes notice that it is _just_ that, _just love_.

Fondness and lust and gratitude mingling into something bittersweet and suddenly so ordinary.

It is nothing like the sense of gut-deep belonging he feels when he is alone with his little witch, that terrifying, exciting feeling of being seen for exactly who he is in his entirety, or that golden contentment of knowing that Bonnie forgave him and wanted him close.

It's not the gravitational pull he has _always_ felt to mess with the witch when they are in physical proximity, nor that desire to touch her and look at her because it still feels so _pure_ despite being so far from her.

* * *

"You've been so distant lately, are you okay?" Elena asks once, pulling him aside, dark eyes searching his face while her hand grasps his arm.

She stands a bit closer than usual, and Damon knows the rules of this game – he should lean close so his nose brushes her forehead, flirt so she will scoff and pull back when all she wants is to press her lips to his and finally find out how it feels.

It used to be exciting, to know he could make Elena want him even if she was so devoted to his brother.

Now it just feels cheap, a barely passable imitation of something that might have been beautiful.

He plays his role to the T anyway: his role is all he has, even if he has always despised everything common and ordinary.

* * *

When her history project is completed, Bonnie keeps coming over to the boarding house.

"I never believed it could become a hobby for me," she jokes with Stefan, "but I admit I became addicted to the allure of old family journals."

The truth, Damon suspects, is that Bonnie is so tired of a daddy who is never around and refuses to meet her eyes when he is that she would prefer to spend her free time in an old house inhabited by vampires.

Especially now that she and Jeremy broke up again.

He feels almost guilty that this very thought makes him feel drunk with glee.

It's hard to think that it's been one year since he and Bonnie called it a real truce and got on their way to inexorably becoming whatever complicated, wonderful mess they are now.

It's been one whole year of being her friend, of getting to know her in ways he never thought he could know another person.

He used to think he was too fucked up to ever love anyone the healthy, happy and yet all-encompassing way.

Bonnie Bennett proved him wrong.

He has never told her, never worked up the nerve of doing anything that could convince her that he is over Elena and so deeply into her he can never recover.

Sometimes Damon feels almost like Bonnie knows anyway because … how could she not?

She, who knows him better than anyone, who sees right through all the bullshit he pulls – how could she fail to see through the façade the time it matters the most?

They are not together, but it feels like she is part of him anyway so she should know, and it frustrates him so much that she holds back like she doesn't understand it.

He can't believe it's been just one year but it is Christmas once more and the Mystic Grill is full of disgustingly tacky red and gold decorations. Mistletoe dangles everywhere that might pass for a doorway, just to hand horny teenagers the perfect excuse to make out with the first person they can grab.

Damon would not mind so much if it did not put him in a rather uncomfortable predicament.

Bonnie is right in front him, an extremely amused expression on her face. She is not eyeing the mistletoe that seems to be mocking them above their heads.

"I never saw you so terrified," she insinuates saucily, tilting her head to one side, a coy smirk on her glossed lips.

Damon shifts his accusatory gaze from the offending branch to her eyes, to her mouth.

Her full, soft-looking, sensually shaped mouth, made all the more shiny by that cherry gloss.

_Tempting._

He smirks back and slinks imperfectly closer. He knows he is posturing far more than necessary but with this witch he never could help it – it was a natural reaction.

"I'll kiss you back if you kiss me first," the vampire challenges, merriment dancing behind his cool eyes.

"Chicken," Bonnie calls him, canting her chin boldly up and pulling at the lapels of his jacket. She leans forward on her tiptoes as his head bends down eagerly to meet her, and then her lips are brushing teasingly over his.

It's the very innocent beginning of a very wicked era.

**Post Scriptum: I may never be able to explain what every single review I received to 'Break' has meant for me. I was a nervous wreck before posting it because it was more personal than anything else I had written but I'm glad I did it. So thank you to everyone who read and reviewed that story, helping me to transform something so ugly into possibility of healing. I hope you all enjoyed this sequel. **


	37. Burn

**BURN**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: Clandestine affairs are a dangerous thing, especially when Damon Salvatore is involved.**

**Rating: Mature, sexual situations ahead**

Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2.

**AN:** Written for the Bamon kink meme. Prompt: Damon makes Bonnie stay on the phone with her boyfriend while he goes down on her.

* * *

This is wrong. Bonnie is not so far gone that she doesn't know it.

She knows it so well that she had decided her relationship with Jeremy Gilbert was not a lost cause after all just yesterday. Nevermind the fact that she can't even remember those fuzzy, tender feelings she used to bask in. First love, puppy love, the kind of innocent lightness that sped through her bloodstream whenever Jeremy looked at her in a certain way, full of longing and hope.

Jeremy has been looking at her that way again lately, insisting they are worth another shot, but when Bonnie looks into his warm brown eyes, she does not feel filled with light anymore.

Maybe she does not have it in her to feel something so pure anymore but for Jeremy, she will try to force that capacity back into her soul.

Or maybe not. It's not for Jeremy she is so set on resurrecting the past if she wants to be honest, at least with herself.

She is just terrified, terrified shitless of this clandestine thing she started with Damon Salvatore a few months ago. It's a raw, ferocious _thing_ she desperately wants to end, but every single time she screams and threatens, hisses in anger or explains calmly that it's over, they need to stop, and that it was the last time…

Damon simply refuses to take her words at face value. He keeps coming to her, pushing her buttons, and as soon as he invades her personal space and his blue eyes narrow on hers, it's already too late. She is already burning, burning for him.

She wishes she could go back to those days, when she did not recognize the burn that his proximity scattered through her senses and it was so easy to mistake it for annoyance or irritation.

Now there's nothing to shield her from this new, ruthless awareness of him as soon he steps in a room. Now she knows how it feels when their bodies move against each other, the shudders that rip through her flesh whenever his teeth nip at her sensitive spots, the exact timbre and sound of his voice as he murmurs silly endearments in her ear. Now that she knows these things, she can't set herself back. She can't just…un-know any of these things, not when Damon is so determined to not allow her to forget.

So she asked Jeremy out. She did not mean to be cruel, but Damon would not get the hint otherwise.

Yet her little scheme fell flat and useless.

She understood it as soon she came to her bedroom and found Damon sprawled on her bed, body taut with anger.

"_Funny, Bonnie, I never took you for a coward. Should I be flattered that you're lowering yourself to hiding behind a kid?"_

She hates how Damon constantly brings up her former boyfriend's age. First because the age gap was not that wide to justify all the mocking lines about cradle-robbing and such. Second because Damon Salvatore has no place to judge anyone's love-life choices. Third, where does _he_ get off, thinking he has the right to be jealous? They don't have that kind of relationship.

They have no relationship at all.

It's more like… an association. A totally accidental association where you need to work with someone often, and casually hang out around them and have completely uninhibited sex because you don't care about their opinion of you.

That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

"_Not everything is about you, Damon. Ever thought that maybe I want to date Jeremy again because I still love him? "_

And Damon had laughed harshly, pulling her to him by her elbow, letting her slap him hard just to grasp her hand and kiss her palm after.

And she had let him press his mouth to hers, firm and insistent but oddly gentle too, nearly reverent, until she was kissing him back heatedly, and they were stumbling toward the bed.

It had not occurred to her how wrong it was until her was pausing above her, working her shirt off, and everything in her was singing with anticipation.

Which brings her to where she is now, on her back, trying to clear her mind of the haze of desire and swatting his exploring hands away while his lips brush her bare stomach.

"I need to call Jeremy," is probably the worst thing she could've said at the moment, but it tumbles out of her mouth all the same, breathlessly but clearly.

Shame and guilt wash through her as her words echo in the room, and she must close her eyes to not look down at Damon, the blue of his eyes losing some of its heat to reflect instantly that steely coolness she hates.

"Do that," comes his response, a silky taunt accompanied by his fingertips ghosting over her navel.

She should flip the arrogant vampire off her body and onto the floor, and if she had any sense left she would. But her brain has its way of bypassing conventional logic when Damon provoked her so openly, and she finds she can't let the challenge pass. Hence, her cell phone is levitating out of her bag and into her hand, all while she glares at Damon who is glaring at her.

"I miss you," she says to Jeremy, her tone smug under the superficial flirting, smile thinning as Damon's nails dig in the soft skin of her sides.

Bonnie squirms, barely following Jeremy's rush of elated pleasantries – something about how he was just thinking of her and remembering whatever they used to do together- because it's hard to listen properly when you have a half-naked vampire running his tongue up and down your stomach.

The devious, wicked glint behind the sharp gaze that never leaves her face mesmerizes her and confuses her: she can't move, can't look away.

_Wrong_ – her conscience drills with increasing alarm somewhere inside her head, but it has little power against the heat coiling in her womb as hands part her thighs, primly folding up her skirt to expose her underwear.

_Gods, when did I become such a bitch?_- the witch thinks as she forces herself to blink up at the ceiling.

She doesn't want to pay attention to the soft breath blowing between her legs, and how hot she feels _everywhere._

She doesn't want to think of arrogant, smart-mouthed, mentally unbalanced and unfortunately attractive assholes. At all.

"Bonnie?"

Jeremy pursues, but she suddenly can't remember, for the life of her, what the hell he had asked her in first place.

"Sorry, I …"

_Settle down, don't enjoy the cool fingers stringing your panties aside, or the thumb flicking over your clit. Keep talking, keep breathing. _

"I was looking up the Grimoire before I called, I just found a passage l had missed earlier… "

If Jeremy even notices her rushing and tripping over her improvised excuse, he thinks nothing of it. "Anything interesting?"

Bonnie's hips arch up swiftly, meeting Damon's heated, eager mouth halfway.

"Very…" she breathes out, head lolling backward in some kind of awe as _he_ kisses her _there, _hungry and slow and relentless. She feels like she is bathed in fire and the one thing she can do is let the cell phone fall down on the mattress and cover her mouth with her hands to stifle her scream.

She comes with a startled cry as his fingers pinch her engorged nub just painfully enough to make her eyes water in pleasure.

And it's good, so perfect it feels like she has just touched God.

Complete mental black-out, nerves sizzling with ecstasy, heart racing, pleasure humming underneath every inch of her skin.

It should be enough, but oddly it isn't. Something is missing, and it's more than a bit startling to realize just what Bonnie's itching for.

The weight of a well-toned, cool body above hers - cheek to cheek, chest to chest, legs entwined with hers.

In fact, this new craving is so surprising that Bonnie almost misses Damon crawling up to her, her phone against his ear, flippant smirk on his shiny, wet lips.

When did he get hold of that?

And of course, hitting at his shoulder and fighting to snatch the object away is like fighting a cement vice.

Except cement would never look so incredibly delighted at hearing Jeremy calling her name pointlessly on the other side.

Then the damn vampire thrusts two fingers roughly inside her still aching sex, curling and scissoring in such a deeply satisfying way that she forgets about being furious for a moment or two.

"Jeremy, I'm _so_ sorry to say this to you, but I don't think you'll be meeting this little witch at the Grill anytime today. I'm planning on keeping her very busy. All day long."

Bastard.

How will she ever fix this mess up?

She is _so_ popping his blood vessels into the next century as soon he puts down the phone. Or the shock fades. Or his fingers are out of her hopefully satisfied body. Whatever comes first.


	38. Bloody Desserts

**Bloody Desserts**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: **_Add a certain time of the month_,_a flustered, beyond mortified Bonnie, a naughty, snarky Damon and a veeerrrry happy ending is produced :D_

**Rating: Mature, sexual situations ahead.**

Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2.

**AN:** Written for the Bamon kink meme. Prompt: No one has ever gone down on Bonnie and Damon attempts to rectify this.

* * *

Damon does not truly understand it when Bonnie gets self-conscious about her body. Mainly because he thinks her body is the best thing he ever happened to put his hands on. It's so tiny, all fragile bones and soft, brown, supple skin, delicate but filled with strength and power. There's not a single inch of it he does not find absolutely palatable.

In fact, the one detail stopping him from sinking his fangs all over it is the notion that she would find his quest more painful than enjoyable.

So when a certain time of the month approaches and her scent becomes tangier, her body fuller, her curves softer, he can't avoid being disappointed that she hides it all away with looser blouses and long, flowing skirts.

He has not any words to describe the aroma of the sweet blood spent by her womb – he just knows it's powerful beyond imagination, and breathing in its smell sends desire thrumming across his skull.

The little witch doesn't see it, of course. She will shrink away with an embarrassed pout whenever he's leaning toward her a bit more, sniffing her appreciatively as her sex releases a new surge of that thickened red honey.

Such a shame. It's a waste, really: if only she allowed him to taste her _once_ instead of being her judgey little self, he would prove to her that oral sex is nothing to feel demeaned about, whether you are on the receiving or the giving end.

One day, he tells her that out loud.

"Just once, that's all I need," Damon murmurs against her neck, with an exaggerated wistfulness that is supposed to make his proposition more appealing. He even does his 'eye thing' to stay on the safe side.

Bonnie only slaps his chest and scrunches up her cute little nose in a perfect expression of disgusted indignation.

"It's gross."

And despite her tone, it's not a 'no' so Damon gleefully takes it as a green light to lay it down thick.

"Come on, if you let me try it once and you don't like it, I promise I am never bringing it up again."

The offer gives the witch a pause, because while she is sure she should refuse at once, she also knows her boyfriend can be persistent to the point of mulish obsession. Last thing she wants is spending years with a vampire cajoling and pouting over this subject. It was bad enough when she vetoed biting under any circumstances.

After all, Damon is vampire. However little she likes the idea of him feeding off her blood, he will never stop craving it, because that is his nature. And if there was one way for him to get what he needs without hurting her, maybe it was a bit _unfair_ to him, withholding it without even trying once?

Relationships are about compromising… and she has never been too good at that where _he_ is concerned.

Damon kisses the corner of her jaw, making a throaty sound so alike to a purr that she can't stop herself from smiling a little.

The smile falls off her face right at the next thing Damon growls low on her skin "I want to know I'm the first man to go down on my little bird."

Bonnie shudders and stiffens a little, half-wanting to reprimand him for assuming, half-wondering how he _knows_ and definitely disliking the wide gap between their levels of sexual experience.

However freeing dating someone utterly inhibition-free could be, sometimes it could be just as uncomfortable.

She clears her throat awkwardly. "Is it a serious promise, or just something you're saying to air out your lungs?"

He happily nuzzles the hollow between her neck and shoulder, basically sizzling with excitement.

"I solemnly swear," he drawls, silkily and seductively enough to make her skin crawl.

Bonnie hesitates as Damon's hand strokes her thigh.

"So do we have a deal?" he insists cheekily, lips brushing her earlobe like he forgot all notions of breathing space.

"We do," she concedes begrudgingly on a sigh.

"Marvelous!" he chirps, already maneuvering her toward her bed. Bonnie allows him, not entirely sure if she should find his enthusiasm scary or flattering.

She decides both options have merit.

Before the young witch knows it, she is stretching down on the mattress, legs and bottom hanging off the bed as Damon's fingers unbutton her jeans and pull them down to her ankles without too many preambles.

He is too smooth and sure and silent about it for her liking.

Her knees tremble a little when he parts them, she can't control it, but then his oddly warm lips lay an open-mouthed, lingering kiss on each one and the trembling can only subside.

"I love you," he says with all the placid, somber confidence in the world and it's something only Damon could formulate in that manner while running his palms up and down her thighs, right before squeezing her ass gently and pushing her underwear down.

"I know," she interjects with a forced sassiness, desperately wanting to shed the feeling of unease that has suddenly settled on her.

Damon starts by slowly licking the path from the sensitive spot under her knee to her inner thigh.

"Does it feel good yet?"

Even in this situation, his arrogance sort of amuses her.

"Not quite," she chuckles, just to bite hard on her bottom lip the next second when a wet tongue slides between her folds, lapping up her blood. He does so methodically, with gusto, leaving no part of her cunt neglected and then there's that contented purr from deep within his throat that melts the tension from her muscles at once.

There's such a huge relief in hearing her boyfriend's primitive response to this most natural part of her.

A lifetime ago, when she was barely in her teens, Grams used to stress with such an emphasis that monthly fluxes weren't something to be ashamed of, but to be proud of, because they were the link between a woman and the eternal cycles of the moon, the mark of that exclusively feminine capacity to generate life.

Listening to those 'insane ramblings' had left a younger Bonnie just a bit dreamy, flattered, fulfilled.

This is the feeling that Damon is giving her back right now, feeding off something that most men would probably find distasteful: the sense of being wholly free and entirely worthy of love, flawless despite her taints and faults.

His mouth latches on her clitoris and starts a gentle suction that ends in a sharp pressure of teeth over flesh. Something arises and grows inside her, a tidal wave of sticky, capricious pleasure.

It's a dark, unprecedented feeling, but it still causes her to arch her lower back in order to silently seek more of it.

Yet Bonnie is more than a little taken aback when Damon's lips move downwards and open wide so his tongue can dive inside her slit and reach deep. He gets to sucking enthusiastically like her pussy is his favorite lollipop.

"Fuck!" she swears heatedly, as cool hands cup her ass and hold her up, angling her to better receive his penetration. Jaggedly, she picks up the rhythm, pushing back good and proper against his mouth.

It feels so much better than she has ever believed it could, and her orgasm crashes down on her like a lightning bolt, intense and all consuming. She twists in Damon's hold, feeling bereft as that fire-embedded bliss eventually abandons her.

She raggedly breathes this loss of grace in and out, loose-limbed and satisfied, realizing just now the damp sheen of sweat that sticks her shirt to her back.

Kneeing at her feet, Damon is licking his lips leisurely, sighing with a humming, well-satisfied noise before pulling her underwear up to cover her sex. He even gives an affectionate pat to her mound and a furtive peck to the exposed sliver of her stomach, then soundly drops his weight on the space beside her.

Bonnie has the fleeting, totally random whim to knee the vampire in the groin even before he starts talking.

That broad, cocky, naughty grin and the victorious twinkle behind those cobalt eyes are frankly more than she can stand.

"I dare say _I_ won our bet."

He's playing with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger and oozing conceit, and she can still smell the metallic tang of her blood on his breath. It clings to her skin but it doesn't disturb her as she might have expected.

So, a _loving_ swat lands over his head but Bonnie still forces herself to give him his due, although from under a safe veneer of sternness:

"Shut up and _maybe_ we can do it again sometimes."

_Like tomorrow _– the witch considers privately, not without a certain wishfulness – _or right now?_

"Ya, mein furher!" Damon chimes in at her side, doing a mock military salute, and it's transparently obvious that his smugness is anything but diminished.

He pulls her to his chest and Bonnie smirks, molding her body to his and resting her forehead against his throat.

She may technically have lost, but she feels much like a winner at the moment.


	39. Skin

**Skin**

Author: Sky Samuelle  
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

**Pairings: Bonnie/Damon**

**Summary: Damon asks for a peculiar birthday present… and he receives it.**

**Rating: Mature, sexual situations ahead**

Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2.

**AN:** Written for the Bamon kink meme. Prompt: skin contrast

* * *

This is his birthday gift. The one he asked for, the request he bothered to be extremely detailed about, so Damon takes his time to admire it inside its enticing wrappings before getting his eager hands all over it.

Which is not as easy as it should be since his fingers were hitching to touch the second Bonnie let her black silk dressing (_his_ present for _her _last birthday) fall to the floor.

She is sitting on his bed right beside him, dark hair pulled tight in a bun, exposing her beautiful, fragile neck. The stiff set of her shoulders reveals she is not as fearless as she is striving to appear, but the spark of pride and fierceness that flashes behind those green eyes reminds him that she will never be the one to back down.

The crimson red corset, with the back laces pulled tight, pushes her breasts up, squeezing them against each other in two firm and supple-looking globes.

He licks his lips in anticipation, makes the ice in his shot-glass swirl in his whiskey, completely unashamed about how pointedly he's staring at her cleavage.

Bonnie barely swallows a scoffing sound that should irritate him, but instead puts a wider smirk on his lips.

He lays his palm on her collarbone, enjoying how heated her skin feels in contrast to his and the speeding heartbeat that thrums through her flesh and into his, before pushing slowly pushing her down so her back is flat against the mattress .

His fingers trace lingeringly the curve of her breasts, where skin meets lace, following the borders of her corset. Her breath is even and heavy, but it meets a swift intake as he starts playing with a certain knot.

The knot suddenly comes undone and Damon smiles innocently as he pulls the strings a bit too energetically, a wicked light in his cerulean eyes as her breasts are forced closer together and press against the cloth so badly that it looks like they were going to spill right out of their constricting garment.

Bonnie might put an end to his fun at any time, of course, but all she does for the moment is breathe in, square her jaw and glare up at him in a way that warms him from head to toe.

Damon releases the pressure at once, loosens the offending laces with the effortless quickness of a vampire with experience and all of sudden her chest is perfectly exposed.

The witch's tits bounce slightly as they fall free, and his eyes glaze over the movement.

He tips his glass slightly against her sternum and the cool liquid glides gently down, along the sweet planes of her brown flesh, between and over her breasts.

Bonnie shudders at the icy sensation, shudders harder when Damon's fingertips crawl gingerly toward her nipples, stroking soft curves and teasing tightened peaks with a feathery touch.

He is fascinated not so much by her reaction but by the contrast between his skin and hers as his hands caress her upper body, her stomach, her thighs. Her skin is an earthly, carnal brown that melts under the ivory white of his, her vital warmth searing into his lifeless coolness.

He doesn't know why, but there's something about the exact shade and texture of her skin that entrances him. The way her scents mingle with the poignant smell of his favorite drink arouses him even more when he dips his head downward to run his tongue along her abdomen, licking off the whiskey that is tricking down her squirming stomach.

The mingled taste of old whiskey and dark skin is everything he fantasized about and more, something to burn into his memory to replay again and again, ad infinitum.

His tongue continues its path up, toward her breasts, around her brown nipples, and Damon feels dizzy with desire, not the kind that burns as a craving to possess, but the kind that inebriates and cleanses as the most singular bliss of senses. He is vaguely aware of Bonnie's body arching under his, her thighs spreading wider to accommodate him, her soft sighs of pleasure feeding his lust.

His hands cup her breasts, squeezing and kneading and fondling, while the vampire nips playfully at her shoulder and neck.

His mouth drifts down again when Bonnie's nails dig into his nape, her palm cradling the side of his head to redirect him toward her chest.

Damon growls, tempted to protest that since it's _his_ birthday, he should not be taking any directions, but since his mouth is already latching greedy on one of her nipples, objecting seems both pointless and petty. So he enjoys the moment, uses his other hand to tease her other tit and literally forgets about anything else until he realizes strong female legs are winding around his waist, urging his cock inside wet, warm depths.

On second thought, he should have known better than expecting his girl to repress her inner dominatrix for that long.

But it does not matter, he repeats to himself as he thrusts deeper and notices that, somehow, his hand and hers hand are entwined, white fingers and black fingers interlacing and grasping tightly at each other in one wobbling fist.

He likes _everything_ about this little witch. A lot.


	40. An Armistice Of Sorts

**Title: An Armistice Of Sorts**

**Author: **Sky Samuelle

**Rating: **M for sexual situations

**Author's note: Written for a tvdanon prompt. ****kink of choice**: semipublic sex against the wall. Thank you to awesome Monique for revising it.

**Summary: ** and Bonnie are strangers in a bar that have bee eying one another all night…

* * *

He has watched her whole the night, insistently so, from his 'usual' spot at the bar - since she came in, all bright and smiling with her group of silly, loud friends.

He usually loves his co-eds loose, forward and flirty so he can't quite explain why he can't take his eyes off from this one. Who hides something somber behind those olive-green, cat-like eyes and wears nothing very revealing.

Idly, he wonders if all those years he has spent chasing the mirage of Katherine –that malicious, lying, treacherous whore!- before accidentally coming face to face with her in Dallas, 1984, finally turned him off sluts and into nuns.

He decides the thought doesn't completely displease him as the girl – Bonnie, he heard her friends calling her shoots yet another bashful glance in his directions while nervously tapping her fingers against her empty glass. Fifteen minutes since last one of her friends abandoned the table, and sweet little Bonnie still has not figured out what doing with his blatant staring.

Her sudden bout of shyness amuses him –she certainly didn't look all that intimidated until she was in company – and, maybe, it even arouses him a bit. She stayed behind for him, after all, so he thinks he can choose generosity and take her out of her misery.

He strolls to her table, confident smirk in place, blue eyes shining as he takes his measure of her. She is more beautiful, close up, and that wide, lovely mouth thins a little when he makes himself comfortable in her booth, stretching his arm behind her shoulders. She is petite and smells like citrus and honey as he leans in, invading her personal space. He likes that. It fills his head with all sorts of fantasies where he drives his hand between her legs and just watches as her eyes glaze over and her mouth hangs open and her cheeks flush in pleasure.

"Hello – he introduces himself with a shark-like grin, before she can voice any insincere objection to his presence– I am Damon and I am going to buy you a drink."

He might compel her right away, make it easy and simple, but he is not sure he wants easy and simple tonight. He is not thinking about feeding, for once. He might to want kiss every inch of that mocha skin without going in, fangs first.

But her expressions shifts, from uncertain to disappointed to hard, and her body slinks away.

"You are a vampire?" she grits out , like she can't quite believe it yet but she resents her luck more than anything.

Damon grins wider, but a bit more falsely. "Let me guess, you are a witch."

* * *

One heated discussion and a few aneurysms after, they are in the back alley behind the Mystic Grill and she is not complaining while he pushes her up against the dirty, cold wall.

"I'm going to fry your brain if those fangs come out." She warns, probably not as stern as she had hoped to sound.

"Suit yourself." He nods, mildly condescending as he pulls her skirt up and drives a knee between her thighs.

Damon is not quite sure of how they got here, but he is certainly not complaining. There was something moving between them at that table, between a threat and an insult. Call it lust, chemistry, heat … but he might swear he saw himself reflected in her for a moment or two, and he liked that, more than he liked anything in a long time. Strange as it is, he is nearly certain she felt that same.

"So –he smirks, malice-less, running his cool palms on the soft, bare skin of her legs and luxuriating in the feeling of her warmth– this is a truce?"

"More like an armistice."

She breathes against his lips, a moment before pressing them hesitantly against his. He responds eagerly, brushing his tongue against the close of her lips, and then Bonnie is opening her mouth to his, like a hungry and needful thing that is trembling in his arms.

It's strange, how he finds himself brushing her hair away from her cheeks, how his body presses against hers, almost cradling it, in a way, and he suddenly she doesn't feel like a stranger at all.

Her tongue moves against his, and Damon feels greedy for more of her taste, of her scent, of the feeling of her breasts crushed against chest as she shudders again with a soft moan.

"Bonnie. " he tries out her name, tastes the weight of every letter as his lips linger on her jaw, but she doesn't ask how he knows, even if she never told him.

She is too busy gasping loudly in the cold air of the night, maybe in shock at the feeling of a hand kneading her soft, round ass so roughly. He can read the caution, the _want_, the anger warring and melding together, written in every tense line of her limbs. Her arms fasten around his neck and her legs wrap unsteady around his waist.

Damon smirks, his nose gliding up and down the sweet curve between her neck and shoulder, breathes her in once more before he rips off –none too gently– her cotton panties, exposing the moist flesh of her cunt to the night's caress.

And to his searching, eager fingers.

The reluctant surrender that erupts across her features while he parts her folds slowly and thumbs her wet, hot hole is everything he fantasized and more. Her swollen lips part, her cheeks warm, and the cry that crawls from deep within her throat is an endearing mew - the face of his little witch is a portrait of delicious decadence.

He kisses her again, avidly, and forces two fingers deeper inside her weeping pussy. Her inner walls wrap around his flesh like she is born for it, and he can't help imagining it's his dick she is tightening around.

He imagines how it would feel – just as empowering, but sweeter, more sinful, more gratifying, more … just more. He wants it now and her relentless grinding on his groin is definitely not helping.

Bonnie moans in a way that makes his toes to curl and his suddenly painful erection grounds against her center, insistently, until her little hands start fumbling with his belt and finally free his cock.

Damon feels almost petty when he removes his fingers, wiping on her ass the juices he can't taste, because he's hoisting the witch up, positioning himself between her parted thighs and enjoying a bit too much the impatient sound she has just made .

"Fuck… Damon, I-"

It almost startles him, the sound of his name coming from her, broken by her voice into something that is both a curse and a blessing.

His hips buck instinctively and in one vigorous stroke he is inside, buried to the hilt into her damp, hot, tight haven.

He rests his forehead against hers, enjoying the sensation, trying to contain the burning in his gums so he won't give in the impulse to sink his fangs deep into her beautiful throat.

He would really hate to kill this one, assuming that she did not manage to torch him alive first. She looks like she has excellent reflexes and … well, the danger kinda turns him on even more.

Which is probably why his cock twitches and starts thrusting hard and fast, harder and faster, like it has a will of its own.

He refuses to go easy on her only because she is nearly human and Bonnie sure as hell is not asking him to. Quite the contrary, given the string of obscenities she is mouthing off into his ear.

And then the witch is biting him, clamping her mouth around his shoulder and squeezing with her human teeth - the sting of it goes straight to his lower regions, spurring him to go deeper, more harshly.

His last coherent thought before he loses himself is that he could use more truces like this one.


	41. Daylight Fading

**DAYLIGHT FADING **

_No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
I never knew daylight could be so violent_

* * *

Bonnie remembers the first time she met Damon.  
They were at Elena's house, after that dinner with Stefan, and Caroline hung on Damon's side, her eyes trained on him and gleaming him with pride, like she could barely believe she could show him off as hers.  
Bonnie could tell right away that Damon was anything but Caroline's. His eyes took in his surroundings with a sort of predatory focus, but whenever they were returning to her friend, they were dismissive, maybe even condescending.  
And then when those eyes met hers straight on, Bonnie remembers being startled by how blue they were.

They were the same blue you saw in the very centre of a flame and they had the same harshness, the same barely controlled violence.  
He smirked at her, smug and false and somewhat lascivious, and she returned it with a forced, thin smile.

_This one is bad news for sure_, she said to herself and some dark instinct inside her stirred, in between recognition and foreboding, attraction and repulsion.


	42. Perfect

**Title: Perfect **

**Author: SkySamuelle **

**Pairing:Bonnie/Damon, Damon/Bonnie/Stefan **

**Summary: this was written for the TVDanon meme, as per usual. In aftermath of the war against Klaus, a witch and two vampires develop a very unexpected relationship. **

**Warning: Sexual contet ahead. **

**Rating: definitely M  
****Author Note: ****this is far out of my usual element, because I normally scoff at threesome fics... still, this idea would not go until i put it on paper. Give it a chance - the situation described is extreme enough to make 'certain aspects' almost natural. **

**Also, thank you to everyone who nominated this collection of stories for Bamon Awards 2011, as best smutfic around. Iam moved and grateful! This is your reward!**

* * *

Bonnie is not sure of how it happens but in the wake of Elena's death, she finds herself going from being Stefan-The-Ripper's new BBF and Damon's favorite fucktoy to simply being *theirs*.

Maybe she should have seen it coming - they are last left standing in their small brigade, after defeating Klaus, and it made them all a little crazy.

Like suddenly they are not willing to deny themselves nothing, and she is freakishly okay with being owned because it means she doesn't need to be alone, because they need her too... and because she is the one chord that keeps two brothers together, at this point.

Still, she wishes sometimes it felt a bit less good. That she felt at least a bit of shame. It would make it easier. But no... she is on her knees, naked, standing between equally naked Stefan and Damon, and she is so wet that if someone doesn't touch her soon she might die from it.  
How low the mighty has fallen.

They are both hard, circling around her as sharks, and Damon is breathing in the scent of her arousal fully, smirk slowly crawling on his lips.  
Stefan's face stays enigmatic, slight predatory smile contrasting the cold light in his eyes, but he's the first to step forward, to fist her hair and tug her head toward his cock. He pushes the tip of it against her lips, glances to Damon to prove a point.

"Open that lovely gob of yours and shallow me whole." The Ripper says, tone hard and imperious just to make her toes to curl.

Bonnie obeys a bit more happily than she would like, her eyes huge and glassy as she looks up to see how his head rolls back in satisfaction as his tip hits the back of her throat. His hands hold her head firmly in place when her gag reflex kicks in .

"Suck me off. Now." The Ripper growls impatiently, and the witch breathes in and does as she is told, enthusiastically sucking him in, her tongue stroking wetly around his hard lenght.

"Fucking Hell!" She hears Damon hissing angrily, and she guesses he's stroking himself as he watches, unable to help himself. He never can help it, even if it gets him jealous and full of fury, the watching. This is a dangerous game and Damon always was a bit of a did *that* become endearing exactly?

She nearly has not the time to wonder, before by the next moment he is penetrating her dripping cunt harsly from behind. It hurts a little but mostly, she loves it. Loves how he goes all the way in before bottoming out and then slides back in all over again. Pain and pleasure are like twins, bringing her body back to life.

Damon slams into her again and again, his balls smacking against her ass with each deliciously ruthless thrust. He's definitely her favorite, but Bonnie will never tell him.

Stefan fucks her mouth harder, faster, grimancing in pleasure under her teary eyes. Damon smacks her ass while he fucks her harder too, like it is a contest.

Bonnie squeezes her thighs together, trying to feel Damon more even while she sucks on Stefan more enthusiastically, feels tears sliding down her cheeks and blurring her sight as whole her body melts. She comes right in time to shallow Stefan's salty, hot come down, and last thing she hears is Damon grunting her name as he follows them into bliss.

It's a perfect moment in her mess of a life.  
THE END.


End file.
